


Ultra

by ephemeralnights



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Academic rivals, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American High School AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Identity Issues, Muggle AU, Slow Burn, this was meant to be a short 2 chapter fic but spiraled outta control whoops, will draco ever stop being extra
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2018-11-05 20:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11021037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralnights/pseuds/ephemeralnights
Summary: Hermione knows junior year at Hogwarts is going to be difficult, but with her head in the game and her heart set on Princeton, she's ready to tackle every obstacle that stands in her way. Even if it means cutting a deal with the Albino Devil™  himself.





	1. a rekindling of hatred

Room 127 hummed with sleepy chatter and lethargy filled Hermione's ears like syrup as she slid into her seat next to Harry and Ron. They greeted her with yawns and mumbled _good morning_ 's.

Hermione rubbed the sleep from her eyes and unzipped her backpack. She rummaged through her books until she found  _An Introduction to Chemistry, 7th Edition,_  and set the secondhand copy gently on her desk.

A strangled sound came from her left. "What are _those?_ " Ron blurted as he watched Hermione bring out more notebooks, sounding more scandalized than the time Hermione had suggested they try a new vegan restaurant in Diagon Alley. "I thought we didn’t need to bring anything 'til Thursday." 

Hermione spared a glance at Ron's desk, bare except for a plastic bag of Red Vines. "We don't, but Snape teaches AP chem at a fast pace. I figured I'd get ahead. Also -  _Red Vines?_ For breakfast?”

"Red Vines are a perfectly acceptable breakfast food," Harry jumped in defensively while snagging a piece from Ron. "That pile of books, though? On the first day of classes?" He squinted skeptically at Hermione's pile of books. "Bit of an overkill, Hermione."

"Guys, this is an  _advanced_  class…I mean, no offense—“ 

Ron snorted.

“—But you hardly scraped through regular chemistry and it's been _two years_ since then.” 

“Well, that’s why we’ve got you,” Harry said as if it were obvious. He ducked Hermione’s swat with a grin.

“Honestly,” Ron said through a mouthful of candy. “We wouldn’t be sitting in half these AP classes if it weren’t for your help. I thought I was gonna fail that English final last semester for sure, but then I got a B minus and McGonagall told me I should take AP Lang. Freaking miracle.”

“And like, yeah chem is hard, but you’re awesome at it so you've got us covered right?” Harry said.

“Don’t count on it." Hermione said reprovingly. "I won't have any time to helpyou guys with homework this year.” 

Harry and Ron stared at her.

“You’re...not gonna help us?" Ron frowned.

"I'm taking five AP classes, working part-time, volunteering on weekends, and I've got to plan for S.P.E.W. I'm completely swamped this year." Hermione tucked her hair primly behind her ears. “I shouldn’t even be doing your homework for you at this point, anyway.”

“Oh come  _on,_  Hermione," said Harry. _"_ It's not like _we_ wanna go to Princeton. No offense."

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't underestimate yourself. If you just tried a bit harder—“

Ron yawned. "Anyway.”

"No but seriously, Harry, you can't limit yourself to Stanford just because that's where your parents went,” Hermione pressed. "I'm not saying Stanford isn't a great school, but if you just started doing some research on some other universities -  _Harry_. Are you listening?”

Harry hummed a vague " _mhm_ ", suddenly too busy scrolling through Instagram to reply.

Hermione sighed. Everyone knew that Harry Potter, the soccer prodigy, Dr. Dumbledore's protégé, and son of infamous activists Lily and James Potter, had a wealth of potential and a record that any competitive college applicant would kill for. He was a natural-born leader and had founded the DA — a now nation-wide volunteering group — in just his first year of high school. But he'd set his sights on Stanford ever since he learned that his parents had met there. James and Lily had been such prominent alumni that Stanford had practically reserved a spot for their son. While that should've encouraged Harry to work harder, he only saw it as an easy way out.

Ron suddenly gave a loud groan. "Oh for the love of  _God_ ,  _n_ _o_."

He and half the students around them had turned their attention to the door. Hermione followed everyone's gaze and, immediately afterwards, wished she hadn't.

Draco Malfoy, aka the Albino Devil, aka If-Regina-George-Were-A-Male, aka God's Greatest Mistake, had just strutted into the classroom with his equally detestable friends Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini. Hermione had almost forgotten about Draco's existence over the summer. Dread began sinking through her stomach at the sight of him again.

What was it she despised about him? At first glance, he seemed like your average son of a billionaire. He carried an air of forced coolness, like one of those Instagram-famous models who carefully staged and edited every photo before captioning it _I guess Dubai was chill_ and sharing it with his 500k followers. It wasn't just the Italian leather slides or the platinum hair that made him unbearable; it was the smirk, the swagger; the  _insouciance._

Five years ago, back when she'd been a new student desperate for a friend, Hermione almost bought into the facade like everyone else. Her enchantment with her charming classmate had lasted for about five minutes until he opened his mouth and spoke with sort of cruelty that didn't seem _real_. Draco Malfoy was the first to teach her that not everything in this Christmas-card town belonged in a fairy tale; boys with clever jokes and handsome grey eyes could deliver villainous insult just as easily as flipping a page of a book. But Hermione learned quickly, and it wasn't long before she discovered precisely which words would hurt him most and make him shut up. In fact, she usually won their verbal battles, and though she'd never admit it, those small victories always gave her a ridiculously childish sense of satisfaction.

Draco swept a passing glance around the room, Hermione quickly averted her gaze -- a second too late. He spotted her across the room and slowly broke out into a grin that made the dread in Hermione's stomach churn into annoyance.

Harry muttered a curse as the blond sauntered up to their desks, and Hermione mentally echoed the sentiment.

"Potter, what a surprise!" Draco drawled. His eyes brightened as they swept over Ron. "You're taking AP chem too, Weasley? I'm shocked. Did you both actually grow brains this summer?”

Harry remained seated, but his shoulders squared and he set his jaw as he looked up at Draco. "What are you doinghere, Malfoy? Come here to brag about your summer?”

Harry and Ron had gleefully mentioned last weekend how dead Malfoy's Instagram and Twitter accounts were over the summer, and while Hermione wished it'd been because he'd gotten abducted by some criminal cabal, she knew the real reason why he'd gone socially MIA. 

Draco smirked as if he’d been waiting for Harry ask. "Maybe."

He was purposely baiting them, hoping to get them to admit their curiosity. Hermione decided to spoil it. "You interned for Tom Riddle," she interjected blandly. "Yes, we've all heard about that."

Draco mock-applauded. "The know-it-all really does know it all."

Hermione scoffed. "Oh don't tell me you're  _proud_ of getting that internship."

"I think interning with a senator is supposed to be an achievement," he said pensively. He raised his eyebrows and turned to Blaise and Theo. "Thoughts?"

"Yes, because that's  _such_ an honor," Hermione said before either could speak, "getting an internship with a-"

"Deluded megalomaniac," Ron supplied.

"-psychopathic senator. And that, too."

Draco hummed. "Congrats on expanding your vocabulary, Weasel. And actually, Granger, the Riddle Internship Program isn't meant to just be an _honor_. It's a learning experience. A stepping stone. I mean, if you have talent of course. Tom has a pretty low tolerance for..." Draco looked Ron up and down with one sweeping glance, "Incompetence."

"Like _you've_ got any talent," Harry scowled.

"Do I detect salt?" Draco said mildly. Behind him, Blaise and Theo snickered. "I mean, I get it Potter, honestly I do. I'd be jealous too if the only attention I got from anyone this summer was from a criminal and a freakishly large family of morons. Oh, and speaking of the _criminal,_ how's Boo Radley handling the domestic life?”

"That's enough." Hermione interrupted before Harry could lose his temper. 

Draco chuckled. "Did you spend your summer at the Burrow too, Granger? Better than that dump you live in, probably. Though personally, I wouldn't be able to decide what's worse," his lips curled in disgust. "Camp Ginger? Or a trailer park?"

Hermione glared at him. "Look. We all know why you got into that stupid program--"

"Oh, are we still talking about that?"

"--and it has nothing to do with your _talent_."

"Do enlighten me, then."

"You only got into the RIP because you bought your way in. Riddle wanted your parents' money - not you - so get off your high horse and take a look at the _facts_ before you decide to gloat.”

Harry and Ron muttered in agreement beside her. Draco bristled at her comment, momentarily caught off-guard. He blinked at her slowly. "Yeah? And what exactly did you spend _your_  three months doing?" he asked. "Sweeping up trash at Hogsmeade? Cleaning tables at the Three Breadsticks? I don't think that's quite as important as interning for the Majority Leader of the Senate..." He lowered his voice. "But hey, who knows? Princeton might give you a few brownie points for your hard work out of sympathy. I hear it's not easy living off our donations these days.”

Hermione huffed out an unimpressed breath and met his stare evenly. "At least I know the difference between working hard for what I want and cheating for it. That's the real difference between us, Malfoy. The fact is, you don't try at all, but I do." Then a stroke of inspiration hit her. "That's why by the end of this year, I'll be valedictorian while you won't even make it into the top ten."

Draco's lips twitched upwards and he leaned down closer to her as if about to share a secret, close enough she could smell his expensive cologne.

"Is that a challenge, Granger?"

Hermione felt Ron and Harry shift beside her. She stayed still, refusing to slouch back into her chair. "Clearly not one you can handle."

Draco laughed shallowly. "Well it's a bit of a reach. The thing is, I'll always do better, no matter how hard you try. _Fact._ ”

Under any other circumstances, Hermione would have thrown his retort right back in his face. Thinly veiled threats to her position as valedictorian never worried her. She was the best in her school, the "brightest girl of her age". But this was Draco scum-of-the-earth Malfoy, and given what she knew about his winning strategies — which usually involved a lot of bribes and intervention from Lucius — the bastard could actually have a sliver of a chance at cheating his way to the top. The intrusive thought made Hermione hesitate a second too long.

Draco smiled coldly and straightened before she could reply. "Glad we settled that." He glanced at the clock, where the minute hand was one tick away from 7:30, and then looked back down at Harry and Ron with sudden cheer. "Well. Good chat, guys. Have fun getting your asses handed to you today. I heard Snape's in an awful mood." He  _tsked_  in sympathy and brushed past them.

Hermione burned her gaze into his back as he and his friends retreated to the back of the classroom. "What is his _problem?_ " she seethed. "Is it just me, or was he more of a jackass than usual today?“

"It's not just you," Ron muttered, the tips of his ears red as he glared at Malfoy and his friends.

"I swear I've never wanted to punch anyone in the face more than I did just now," said Harry plainly.

"Every year we come back from break you think he might learn just a bit of common decency, you know? But it's like he just gets more and more  _obnoxiously_ offensive every year."

Ron snorted. "True."

"And don't even get me  _started_ on his stupid internship. Like, what kind of internship is that anyway? It's literally just a dumb title for being a glorified personal assistant or whatever...the _Riddle Internship Program,_ for heaven's sake--"

Harry silently elbowed her in the ribs. He tilted his head towards the door, and Hermione reluctantly turned around.

As she expected, Snape stood at the entrance with his arms crossed and a displeased frown on his face. An unsettling hush fell over the rest of class as their teacher's pitiless eyes travelled over his students. It didn't take long before his gaze landed on Harry and his lips twisted into a familiar sneer. Seconds later, the bell rang, and the door slammed shut behind him.

Ron and Harry quickly stowed their phones and snacks away and procured pencils out of nowhere as Snape stalked down the aisle. Hermione straightened her posture, plastered on her most serious expression, and tried to shake off the encounter with Draco. _One monster at a time._ She reminded herself that this monster had nothing against her — Snape was scary, sure, but at least he didn't hold some personal vendetta against her. 

 

Still, she couldn't help but shoot a glance towards the back of the classroom as Snape cleared his throat and uttered his first words that morning — something that sounded like " _welcome to hell_ ". Hermione focused in on the blond who was casually lounging in the corner next to an orange-tanned Pansy Parkinson. Draco hadn't bothered to put away his phone, despite Snape's zero tolerance policy for the use of electronics during class. Hermione felt her irritation rise again at the visible reminder that he could get away with murder under most teachers here. One simpering apology and a reminder of his father's generous contributions to the school were all it took for him to suddenly become an angel in everyone's eyes. It wasn't _fair_. 

Her skin prickled when he lifted his gaze from his phone and, as if he'd sensed her staring at him all along, he met her gaze. The corners of his lips curled mockingly.

Draco's message was plain and clear.  _Watch your back, Granger_.

She pursed her lips with displeasure and sat a little straighter. Lifted her chin a little higher.  _Fine, then. You wanna compete? Game on, Malfoy._

 

***

 

 _Someone_  in the guidance department,Hermione decided, had a  _terrible,_  schadenfreudicsense of humor, because it couldn't  _possibly_ be a coincidence that she shared every single one of her AP classes with Draco _freaking_ Malfoy.

By the end of the school day, Hermione was furious enough to punch a hole through her locker. Not only was Ferret Boy in all of her classes--he'd also miraculously stumbled across _ambition_ over the summer. Hermione had been prepared to laugh off his presence in every class, but she'd underestimated him. He'd strolled into every class without a textbook, without a notebook, without even a _pencil_ between his fingers, yet somehow he'd gotten every single pop-quiz question right _._ Even the mathletes were impressed when Draco had solved Vector's definite integral problem in a matter of minutes. Hermione suspected this was because his parents had hired him a private tutor. Still, he wasn’t supposed to care; he wasn’t supposed to show off. (That was _her_ job.) And it wasn't like he even needed his GPA to place him in the top ten! His name alone was enough to grant him instant access to any university, no matter his class rank. What had gotten into him?

 _Is there even any point in this “competition?”_ she wondered skeptically as she began the five minute drive to her new workplace. Hermione wanted a lot of things: average-sized teeth, the end to sexism and discrimination, better social skills… but the wish that currently topped her list was something she’d dreamed of for as long as she could remember: acceptance into Princeton. She just needed two more years of hard work. Judging by her grades so far, she knew she had a probable chance of graduating as valedictorian. Malfoy could give it a shot, but Hermione doubted he'd ever be able to catch up with her no matter how hard he tried this year.

_So why am I worried?_

She scoffed. For the past five years, she'd managed to either successfully ignore or combat all of Malfoy's taunts. And as a general rule, she  _never_ worried about any of the stupid bullshit he spouted. So why start now?

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hogwarts political drama. malfoy and granger agree on something for once, but then they remember they hate each other. karaoke @ the 3 breadsticks.

 

**_(iMessage with Ron W.)_ **

**Ron: hey is there an NHS meeting today?**

**Hermione: ur on the exec board…**

**Ron: lol im treasurer not secretary**

**Hermione: wow. yes we have a meeting.** **room 212.**

**Ron: ok. ferret gonna be there?**

**Hermione: he better be since he’s co-pres**

**Ron: ugh can i skip and pretend i didn’t know**

**Hermione: absolutely not**

 

***

 

When McGonagall had appointed Hermione president of National Honors Society, it felt like a huge honor. Any leadership position in an organization like NHS would stand out on her college application. But Hermione had not been ready nor willing to share the glory when McGonagall appointed a _second_ president, no. Hermione had felt betrayed. _Does she think I need help leading? Do I seem incapable?_ Suddenly, being the president— _co-president—_ of NHS didn’t feel any more special than another A on an exam.

But Hermione still technically held the title, so she decided she was going to prove herself the better leader. She was going to be the best damn NHS president Hogwarts had ever seen.

She didn’t have to try hard. It was only the first meeting of the year, and Malfoy was already late. He showed up about seven minutes after the meeting had officially begun and sidled up to the front of the room where Hermione was waiting. He didn’t say anything, but the _blessing you with my presence_ air he carried around himself reeked more strongly than a poisonous cloud of Axe on a thirteen-year-old boy.

Hermione glared at him. “You’re late.”

Draco ignored her and sunk into the office chair behind the Snape’s desk. He stretched his legs out and leaned back with his arms crossed, surveying the members that filled the room with disinterest.

"Do you have the notes I emailed you?" Hermione asked him.

He gave her a blank stare.

"You do know that you have to take some responsibility for leading too?"

"Uh, yeah, I'll pass."

"You're _co-president_. You can't  _pass._ "

Draco hummed tunelessly. "Ask me if I give a fuck."

Hermione looked away from him irritably. _Am I even surprised?_

Deciding she needed to set a positive example, she cleared her throat to try to get everyone’s attention.

“Hey, everyone!” she said. “Listen up!”

A few girls paused in the middle of their conversation. Luna, Ginny, and Neville looked up and smiled apologetically. But everyone else continued talking as if they hadn’t heard her.

“Um, guys, can I have your attention please?”

She heard a snort from beside her. Draco spun idly in the swivel chair, looking extremely comfortable as he watched the disaster unfold.

“Keep it up, Granger, you're doing great,” he drawled lazily.

“Why don’t _you_ try getting forty people to shut up?” Hermione hissed.

"No problem." Draco turned to the crowd and said in an oddly accurate Matthew McConaughey impression, "Alright alright alright, s ettle down, everyone.”

The students immediately quietened and turned to focus on him. Draco drew their attention back to Hermione with an overdramatic sweeping gesture of his hand. “Our _co-prez_ has something very important to say to us." He glanced at her and smiled thinly. "No doubt she’s planned this speech for days, so let’s all listen _very_ carefully.”

Hermione cringed. Draco knew how seriously she took her position as president and he found it _funny._ Of course. Being the co-president of NHS didn’t mean anything to him; _he_ didn’t need any leadership positions to make his college applications look good.

Hermione brushed it off and dived into the welcome speech she’d planned, though she could tell people were only pretending to listen to her talk. But at least they were pretending.  Draco wasn’t even trying. He’d taken out his phone and was scrolling through his Instagram feed, pausing every now and then to snapchat someone a few bored selfies. Hermione gave him a few cross looks, but he steadfastly ignored her.

By the time Hermione finished speaking, almost everyone had taken their phones back out and was following Draco’s example. She looked helplessly at Ron, who gave her a sympathetic grimace.

“So…any questions?” she asked the crowd.

No one raised their hand for a few seconds. Then, Cormac MacLaggen lifted his hand halfway and cleared his throat.

“Um, yeah. So like—why do we have two presidents again?” he asked, adjusting his thick rimmed glasses.

“It wasn’t my choice.” Hermione said defensively. “McGonagall thought it was a good idea.”

“Then why don’t we have two class presidents? Or two SCA presidents? Why does _Harry_ get elected and—“

“MacLaggen, that’s irrelevant,” Draco said dismissively. “Next?”

“No, but wait a sec,” Cormac said, holding up his pen. “That’s not fair. A lot of people applied to be NHS president.”

Hermione bit her lip impatiently. She could feel the entitlement rolling off of him in _waves_. If the rumors were true, Cormac had handed their poor teacher a five-page essay on his most “admirable” qualities as his application for president. Hermione couldn’t even imagine where he’d begun. He was the most pretentious student in Hogwarts, though he hardly had anything to brag about; his athletic skills were mediocre and his grades were sub-par and he probably put twice as much gel in his hair than Draco did. Nothing about him was outstanding _._

“Yes, and McGonagall selected from that pool of applicants based on who she thought would make the best leader,” Hermione said, itching to snap at him. "It was a fair process."

“But she chose two presidents…you _and_ Malfoy,” Cormac pointed out.

“Actually,” Draco replied, losing his patience, “McGonagall chose Granger, but Snape disagreed and thought I should be president. So they decided to appoint us both.”

Hermione looked at Draco in surprise. She hadn’t known that Snape had meddled in NHS affairs. But of course—it made sense now. McGonagall didn’t care much for Draco, but Snape would've advocated for him purely to spite _“Potter and his friends”._

Cormac apparently wasn't ready to give up. “Well everyone knows Snape likes you, and Hermione's always been a teacher’s pet. If you ask me, this f eels like favoritism.”

“Well good thing no one asked you," Draco snapped. "So why don't you just  _chill._ Penn State isn’t going to reject you because you weren’t NHS president.”

“Cormac's right, actually. This doesn’t sound fair,” Marietta Edgecombe chimed in with a frown. “Why didn’t we, like, _vote_ on leadership? Like in SCA?”

“Because this isn’t the SCA, obviously," Draco replied scathingly.

“We were chosen based on merit,” Hermione explained at the same time, making an effort to keep her tone level. 

Students began to mutter protests. Hermione caught the phrases _“so unfair”_ and _“doesn’t deserve it”_  tossed around, but she wasn’t sure whether they were talking about her or Draco. She looked at Ron for help, but he only held up his hands in defeat. Even their secretary, Cho Chang, was standing off to the side uselessly silent.

 

Cormac stood up, emboldened by the support he’d aroused around him. “Well _I_ don’t get how—“

“Sit down.” Draco ordered with a sneer. “This isn’t up for debate. Minerva and Snape’s decisions are final, so get over yourself and stop being petty.”

Hermione almost laughed at Cormac’s insulted expression. If there was one thing she and Draco could agree on, it was that Cormac really needed a lesson in humility. Ironic, though, that _Malfoy_ was the one to hand it to him.

Cormac scowled indignantly as he lowered back into his seat. Hermione was just about to add her own fuel to the fire, but as usual, Draco interrupted her.

“If it makes you guys feel any better,” Draco offered loudly to the rest of the disgruntled students, “Granger never really wins the popular vote, so like, this is the only club she’s leading. It’s _Potter_ and _Diggory_ who are presidents of everything.”

Hermione glowered at him.

"Which is why," he continued as the room grew quiet again, "Snape and McGonagall decided to get rid of the voting system in NHS. They knew most of you would just end up voting for Potter as usual. And yeah, they picked their favorites to lead, but really MacLaggen…you never had a chance anyway.”

Cormac looked like he’d swallowed a Puking Pastille. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but one cutting glance from Hermione shut him up.

“So there,” Draco spread his hands. “All of your questions have now been answered. You're welcome. Anything else? Alright then, you're all dismissed.”

No one looked satisfied with Draco’s answer, but they also looked a little terrified at the prospect of facing his and Hermione’s wrath combined. The room filled with the sound of resentful mumbles as forty students began to shuffle out of the room.

Hermione directed her attention towards Draco. “What was _that_ about?” she demanded.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and looked up at her evenly. “ _That_ was me telling the truth. You never win the popular vote.” His eyes glittered with arrogance. “This is the only student organization you’re leading, and it’s because McGonagall made you president.”

“Actually, I’m also founder and president of S.P.E.W, but I guess you wouldn’t know—“

“Spew?” Draco raised an eyebrow.

“S.P.E.W., not _spew._ It stands for the Society for the Promotion and Empowerment of Women.” Hermione said defensively when she noticed Draco’s amused expression.  “Anyway, I was talking about—the point is—you shouldn’t have lashed out at everyone like that.”

“Admit it, McLaggen had it coming.” 

Hermione wanted to deny that—she imagined herself a more forgiving and tolerant person—but Draco was right. “Okay, so he’s kind of a privileged asshole,” she muttered, “Like you.”

“Pfft.” Draco got up and slung his backpack over his shoulders. “He’s a pretentious hipster and obviously jealous. Of me, not you, in case you thought…” Draco’s lofty gaze raked over her. “Anyway, he’s been like that since middle school. Some people just can’t accept it when others are better.”

Hermione couldn’t help but dig into the irony. “Right. Especially when _some_ people are born with a superiority complex and grow up being told they’d always be the best in everything.”

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t call your condition a superiority complex. It’s more of a _bitchy defense mechanism due to underlying deep-rooted insecurities_ thing—“

“Yeah, maybe you’re right," Hermione played along. "A  _superiority complex_ sounds way too basic. Let’s go with _shallow_ _entitled dickhead_ syndrome instead. Symptoms include hidden self-doubt, a lack of any real friends, a resentment towards one's family, and, as previously mentioned, jealousy towards others who are less privileged but do better than you anyway."

Draco tensed and Hermione knew she'd hit her mark. He gripped the straps of his backpack, shifting his weight, and his eyes grew narrow and serious. Hermione  had hoped to provoke him, but there was something disquieting about his reaction that reminded her of the unnerving stillness before a storm.

“God, you know  _so_ much, don't you?" Draco said, his voice suddenly jagged with sarcasm. "You're _so_ _smart._ "

The look he gave her sent an inexplicable rush of adrenaline pumping through her blood. Hermione blinked and carefully processed the situation.

In all the five years she'd known him, she had always pegged Draco as a rich-kid caricature, blinded by arrogance and sculpted by generations of refined cruelty. He went through school with the behavior of a college senior bored with everything the world had to offer. Half of his attitude came off as the lazy egocentrism of every other teenage boy she knew. The other half, Hermione guessed, was the natural consequence of being raised by old money and Satan incarnate.

She remembered the first time she'd seen him, how his eyes met hers for a millisecond before he made his judgment. Since that day he had always looked  _through_ her, not  _at_ her. When he smiled around her, it was because he found her vaguely interesting the same way a cat considered toying with a mouse. Hermione hated him for it, not that it even mattered. Her hatred was insignificant and invisible.  _E_ _very_ _part_ of herwas invisible to him. For years, all he'd seen was a concept; a sketch of an average American girl with above-average grades, labeled  _middle class_ like a generic hashtag slapped on an Instagram post.

And now, for the first time, he was finally looking at her and _seeing_ her. Listening toher. Fearing her, maybe, though that could've just been wishful thinking.

"I know more than you think," she said, putting the weight of a threat behind her words. "So don't _push_ me, Malfoy."

He didn't say anything as she stepped around him. Hermione paused once she reached the door, and she looked back at him before she left. "Don't be late to the next meeting. We wouldn't want McGonagall to find out that you really don't...what was it? 'Give a fuck?'"

She took one last second to relish in the guarded expression on Draco's face before she exited the classroom.  _That's right, Malfoy,_  she thought smugly. I _can play this game just as well as you._

***

 

Friday night, and the Three Breadsticks was packed with locals. But Rosmerta had tucked Harry, Ron, and Hermione away in their usual alcove, so it wasn't all that bad. Plus, it was 80s night. Tonks' band was on fire, performing throwbacks that brought back treasured memories of Hermione's childhood. She had a particularly vivid flashback of her dad jamming out in their minivan when they began playing _Everybody Wants To Rule The World_. And then there was the food—a never-ending supply of breadsticks and heaps of carbs. Hermione didn’t even mind her friends’ endless talk about soccer as she sipped her root beer in perfect bliss and brainstormed project ideas for AP Lang.

She had missed these Friday nights. It had been too long since they'd last gone out together; with Hermione juggling academics and Harry spending more time with Ginny, the three of them rarely found time to hang out outside of school. And though Hermione couldn’t deny how much she loved the challenges this year had brought her so far, a part of her ached for the simpler days of middle school. Back when weekends meant sitting across from Harry and Ron while they did what they did best: eat, complain about school, and trade opinions over the latest Hogwarts rumors.

“So like, what's the deal with Malfoy?" Ron asked between bites of mozzarella sticks. "What happened after that NHS meeting yesterday?”

Hermione bit down abruptly on her straw. Malfoy was the _last_  person she wanted to talk about.  "I don't know...he's just been such a huge jerklately. Yesterday he said I had a bitchy defense mechanism because apparently I'm  _insecure._ "

"Wow. God, what an _asshole_." Ron shook his head.

"Interesting. Think all this has anything to do with those rumors about his dad?" Harry said.

"What rumors?" Hermione asked.

Harry tore the crust off his slice of pizza. "Apparently Lucius Malfoy's doing a bunch of illegal shit to finance Riddle's campaign this year. Not sure exactly what, but I mean... he's backing _Riddle_... That's like, admitting you're in a satanic cult or something."

"Okay, so he has daddy issues. Still doesn't give him an excuse to act like a jerk," Hermione grumbled.

"I know right?" Ron mused. "You know what he really needs?"

"Therapy?"

"A punch in the face."

Hermione hummed in agreement. “Or a kick in the balls." 

Her friends broke out into laughter. It’d been years since the infamous incident (aka _“The Slap Heard Around The World”_ ) out in the Hogwarts courtyard, where Hermione had slapped Draco in the face so soundly that Dean Thomas swore he’d heard it while out on the soccer field. Hermione still remembered it fondly as one of her greatest accomplishments.

"Speaking of the devilspawn,” Harry glanced at his phone. "Guess who’s opened up his humble home to a junior year kickoff party?"

Ron paused in the middle of breaking his breadstick in half. "Seriously?"

"Dean just posted this on his snapstory,” Harry showed them a blurry video of their classmates cheering on what looked like Seamus Finnegan wearing bright pink swim trunks, standing on a diving board, and chugging a keg of beer to earsplitting screams of encouragement. 

“That’s...weird. Like,  _really_ weird,” Ron said.

“Yeah,” Hermione smiled wryly. “I thought inviting the peasantry to his palace was the last thing Malfoy wanted.”  


"I can't believe everyone actually went," Harry frowned. "It's like t hey’ve all gone to the Dark Side.”

Hermione only shrugged and sipped her root beer. She couldn't care less about Malfoy's party life behind the Gate. It wasn’t like everyone went because they actually liked him, anyway.

“Free beer, right?” Ron said as if reading her thoughts.

“True, I guess,” Harry muttered, still tapping through snapstories. "People are shameless."

Ron gestured towards Hermione with half his breadstick. "You totally deserve to go to Princeton after putting up with all their shit for seven years, Hermione.  _And_ you deserve a Gryffindor nomination.”

"If only..." Hermione mumbled.

A nomination into the Gryffindor Society was the highest honor any high school student could ask for, but the nomination had to come from someone with power and influence. Harry received one last year from Dumbledore for his work with the DA. Hermione had felt _so_ close to finally getting one too. Maybe this year…

“I’ll talk to Dumbledore about it,” Harry promised as he turned off his phone. “He knows how much you’ve helped me with the DA. I’m sure he’ll email you soon enough.”

“Harry, you’re the _best._ ”

“Wow, thanks,” Ron said through a mouthful of bread. "I'm the one who reminded him, but okay..."

Before he could finish his sentence, the band suddenly began playing the opening to  _Come On Eileen._ Harry's eyes widened and he perked up like Snuffles when the doorbell to 12 Grimmauld Place rang.

“Oh no,” Hermione groaned.

“Guys, we gotta do this,” Harry pleaded. “Just once, for old time’s sake!”

“What is it with you and karaoke?” Ron said curiously.

"Harry, you know I can't--"

Harry grabbed their wrists before they could finish their protests and pulled them out of their seats. Hermione and Ron exchanged mortified looks.

“Um,” Ron said. “But I don’t know the words. I have never heard this song before in my life, ever.”

Hermione gave Ron a flat look.

Harry grinned widely, deaf to Ron's attempts at lying. “Doesn’t matter, they’ve got sheet music with the lyrics on them. C’mon!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you guys think so far (and if there are any errors)! thanks! <3


	3. homemade dynamite

He could always remember how it started, but never how it ended. 

The definition of _end_ had become a bit blurry around the edges anyway. Parties were supposed to end when everyone left around 2 AM. Usually they did, leaving broken shot glasses scattered around the pool, Malibu stains on his family’s thousand year old Persian rugs, and vomit in the toilets. And after the masses left, for just a few fleeting hours before dawn, a mournful hush would fall over the Manor like a shroud. Then the sky would begin to pale while the the sun rose to shed light upon the carnage, and approximately six hours later, Draco would awaken from his mini-coma with mumbled swears and lethargic hungover groans.

Tonight should’ve ended with a bang—literally. Blaise had bought fireworks and they’d decided to set them off on the golf course, because _that_ was a stellar idea when they were already wasted to the point where Theo was making sand angels in one of the bunkers and Pansy was belting out the lyrics to _Anaconda_ for her latest snapstory. (Not that Draco could judge. After they’d failed to set off the first firework, he’d stolen the golf cart and driven full speed into the fucking _lake._ Pansy had added that to her snapstory too.)

But they gave up on trying to light the fireworks after five minutes of watching each one fizzle out, and they’d concluded Blaise had been dumb enough to buy a bunch of flukes. Blaise had tried redeeming himself by proclaiming he’d also brought six shot glasses ( _“one for each of us, see?”_ ), but as Astoria pointed out, he’d forgotten the vodka ( _“your dumb ass forgot the vodka”),_ meaning the whole five-minute trip from the poolhouse to the golf course had been an _entire_ waste and now they were back at the pool taking shots with the “basics”.

Despite popular belief, Draco didn’t really care who passed through the Manor on weekend nights. Pansy was picky—she had a thing about letting the “peasantry” anywhere within a fifteen-foot radius of her person. Theo was usually concerned with making sure the mob didn’t get their hands on his coke or whatever new synthetic drug he was wheedling from his dealer. Blaise found it all amusing.

Draco just figured that as long as he wasn’t sober, he couldn’t be bothered to give a damn. The more chaos, the merrier.

By the time the last of the stragglers were finding their way out of the Manor and stumbling into the streets, it was nearly 4 AM. Draco had been on the verge of slipping into blessed unconsciousness on the chaise lounge by the pool when someone materialized above him and poured a bottle of some kind of liquid over his head. He coughed and gagged, tasting a vile mix of chlorine and alcohol on his lips. _What the—?_

Then he felt Pansy’s hand splay across his chest, her long and sharp nails piercing into his bare skin.

Draco groaned. “Fuck off.”

She snorted imperiously and said something—probably something snarky—not that Draco heard her. He rubbed his eyes. There was water in his ears somehow and his head felt like it’d been stuffed into a blender.

He cracked open his eyelids and light slanted into his vision. After a few painful seconds of adjustment, he squinted around through the steam rising from the hot tub in front of them. Pool lights wavered and danced beneath a few flamingo-shaped floats that cast everything around them in a bizarre pink glow. Empty liquor bottles littered the veranda. A floral kimono dangled from the roof of the pool house and there were at least twenty pairs of flip flops scattered around the hot tub. The whole place looked like a fucking mess. And it was still _dark._

Pansy hovered above him, a few wet strands of her cropped hair clinging to her jaw. Her eyeliner was smudged, her lipstick smeared. She was holding something glowy. His phone.

Draco had a hard time hearing her as he focused on his screen, which Pansy kept waving around like an SOS signal. He could just make out a few emojis in some of the texts he’d gotten.

“Kelly?” Pansy’s voice finally began to reach his ears. “ _Kelly?_ Who the fuck is _Kelly?_ ”

Draco blinked at the shrill accusation in her voice and tried to recall if there’d been any Kelly’s in his life recently. There’d definitely been an Amy. Possibly a Jessica? But the last time he’d met a Kelly was when he’d gone skiing in the Alps and gotten lessons from a blonde instructor in her thirties.

He swallowed, trying to brainstorm an explanation for why he’d gotten three texts from this Kelly that included a lot of smirking and kiss print emojis, but he blanked.

“Uhhh…no idea.”

Pansy glared at him. “Wrong answer.”

“Seriously, I don’t remember—“  


She held up a manicured index finger. “ _damn babe, you were so good i want a repeat performance. hmu next weekend at my place?”_ she read from the screen before flashing Draco a murderous glare.

_“_ Wait, what?” Draco winced. “Let me see—give me my phone—”  


Pansy’s voice dripped with venom. “Answer the question _. Who is she?_ ”

Draco glanced at his Rolex blearily. It was only 4:13 AM. He didn’t see how it was humanly possible for _anyone_ to be awake at this hour after a raging party, let alone deal with drama (clearly fake) from an on-and-off girlfriend.

Pansy was still watching him and waiting for an answer. Draco had known her long enough to recognize that cold gleam in her eyes and know that if he valued his life, if he was interested in any form of self-preservation, the best thing to do was to beg forgiveness while he still could.

“I don't know. I’m…sorry?” he mumbled.

“Oh, so you _admit_ it,” Pansy hissed. Her eyes suddenly looked pure black. “You hooked up with this thirsty Tinder bitch _behind my back_ and then you had the _au-da-ci-ty_ to deny it and now you’re _sorry_  when you don't even know her name _?_ Sorry my ass!” She stood up and flung his phone into the pool.

Draco groaned. “Brand new 6s. Literally just released last week.”

“Sounds like you care more about your phone than me.” Pansy said with a haughty tilt to her chin. “Not that _I_ care anymore. You know why, Draco?”

“Why, Pansy.”

“Because we’re _done._ ” She ruffled her short inky black hair and collected her stilettos before sauntering past him, swaying her hips in a way she probably thought evoked Beyonce-like confidence.

Draco let his head fall against the back of the chaise and closed his eyes. Hardly a second later, he heard laughter somewhere off to his left. 

_Blaise?_

Draco tilted his head and saw Blaise lying on a beach towel a few feet over. His eyes were closed and he was wearing a loopy grin, drool rolling unattractively from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t worry, bro,” his voice sounded loose and sprawling. “She’ll be back. I give it…uhhh…a week.”

“Yeah?” Draco said irritably. “How d’you figure?”

“C’mon, it’s Pansy.” Blaise waved his hand in a vague gesture. “She’s extra but she’s hella predictable. You always know what you’re gonna get with her, like the breadsticks at the Three Breadsticks, always comin’ out the same, you know what I mean?”

Draco imagined how Pansy would react if she knew she was being compared with breadsticks. “Shit. How high _are_ you right now _,_ Blaise.”

“Like…six foot.” Blaise sniffed. “Girls are always like that though…tryna call you out on your shit just because they love starting drama all the time. Bet you your new ride she’ll be back next Friday. It’s just part of the cycle, man. The cycle, of…like, _life_.”

Draco’s head felt fuzzy. Listening to Blaise’s philosophical murmurs while sleep deprived with a near-deadly BAC made his brain hurt too much to contribute a reply. Blaise’s hypothesis wasn’t making him feel any better either. If there was anything coherent running through his head right now, it was the realization that he didn’t _want_ Pansy to come back. He didn’t want to put up with her drama or any of her calculated tricks for attention. He just wanted…sleep.  For now, sleep. 

His thoughts fragmented, and the remains of the alcohol Pansy had poured over him dissipated in his mouth like the fading aftertaste of licorice. He could still hear Blaise mumbling incoherently (something about breadsticks) beside him, and he wanted to tell the moron to shut up, no one was listening, but his tongue felt like lead in his mouth and his brain dumber than a dead battery, like the fireworks that had never launched, like the stupid party tonight that had just fizzled out instead of ending with a bang.

He was floating. Drifting. The last thing he remembered before falling unconscious was blurting out a question.

“Who the fuck is _Kelly?”_

 

_***_

 

Blaise was right.

Of course. Blaise was always right when it came to women. Pansy came sauntering right back after a week of dragging Draco via vague-tweet. He didn’t even have time to be disappointed before she was texting him a literal list of Terms and Conditions for a “real relationship”, which induced Blaise to cry with laughter for almost ten minutes straight.

Draco was almost tempted to throw his new phone into the pool.

 

***

 

“Draco! You coming or what?”

Theo leaned out the passenger window of Astoria’s Range Rover with a mischievous grin. Next to him, the newly-licensed junior sat in the driver’s seat with her tanned arms stretched in front of her and her hands resting casually on the wheel. A pair of Fendi’s masked half her face, but she probably still looked flawless beneath them.

Draco tapped his fingers against the hood of his Panamera thoughtfully, pretending to deliberate on his options. “I dunno, I’ve got a ton of shit to do.”

Theo made a noise of disbelief, and Draco imagined his friend was probably rolling his eyes behind his cheap Ray Bans.

“Nerd,” Astoria pouted.

“Slackers,” Draco returned with a smirk.

“You sure you don’t wanna skip, bro?” said Theo.

Draco adjusted his aviators against the sunrise. “Tempting, but I’m good.”

“Alright, whatever you say.”

“Snap us pics of your adventures in hell!” Astoria blew him an air kiss.

“Oh, and tell Pansy that Kelly says hi!” Theo added with a wink.

“ _What?_ ”

Astoria broke into peals of laughter and gave Theo a high five. Before Draco could ask Theo what he meant, Astoria stepped on the gas and they sped away.

_Idiots._ Draco expected them to announce they were dating any day now. The whole world already knew they were screwing.

He checked his watch. The Hogwarts parking lot was nearly full and students were already rushing inside. Growing impatient, he pulled out his phone.

_** iMessage with Blaise ** _

** Draco: u alive? **

He wouldn't have been surprised if Blaise was skipping too. Today was filled with exams and presentations. The whole week felt like a giant test—the first hurdle of the semester that told teachers how much their students cared. Which, in his friends’ case, was not a damn bit.

He’d just decided to head inside when a red convertible cruised into the parking lot, Blaise behind the wheel.  _Bastard._

“Always trying to outdo me, aren’t you?” Draco snorted as Blaise pulled up beside him blasting Drake’s new album.

Blaise grinned and patted the wheel. “What do you think?”

“I like the mixtape."

“The mixtape is fire,” Blaise agreed. “The car?”

Draco suppressed a smirk as he glanced at the flaming-red lambo. “It’s very you.”

“Meaning?”

“Italian. Loud.”

“Sexy?”

“More like flashy.”

“Fuck you.” 

He cut the engine and tucked the keys into his pocket before hopping out gracefully. Draco didn’t see how his friend could wear a leather jacket in the stifling late-September heat, but Blaise was the type who’d do anything to keep his aesthetic on brand.

Blaise looked back at his Lamborghini admiringly. “It’s pretty clutch though, right?”

“Yeah.” Draco responded dryly. “C’mon, bell’s about to ring."

Blaise chuckled. “Stop being so serious, man. You know Snape would give you an A in his class even if you failed the final.”

“Not the point,” Draco muttered, running a hand through his hair uncomfortably as the truth crept up his spine like cold fingers.

Ever since the end of his sophomore year, Draco felt as if he were being watched. Like someone out there had hacked into his life and was judging his every move through a webcam. He thought he’d get over it once summer came around, but the stupid Riddle internship had only made it worse.

Senator Riddle had a knack for making people feel like the most incompetent fool on the planet. Draco had expected the RIP to be a breeze -- instead, Riddle had managed to come up with some deliciously fresh torture for him every day that made Snape’s grueling exams feel like a fun crossword puzzle. _Draco, convince Senators Scrimgeour and McNamara to vote for my bill next month. Draco, proofread my proposal for the Keystone pipeline and send it to Kingsley. Draco, find me all the previous Supreme Court rulings for donating through superPACs before the Citizens United case. Draco, summarize my views on healthcare and immigration in a five-page essay. Draco? I expect everything to be finished in three hours._

Riddle demanded excellence in everything. That was the general concept Draco had grown up with, but Riddle took perfection to a whole new level. Even when he wasn’t physically _there_ , it was like he always had a set of eyes watching Draco’s progress and evaluating every action.  One wrong move—whatever _wrong_ even meant—and subtle threats would begin to hover in Riddle’s voice like thunderclouds. 

“ _I expected nothing but success,”_ he’d say in a voice that whistled like a shard of glass _. “Yet you failed to deliver. You are easily replaceable, Malfoy. Remember that. If you want to stay, then you have to do better. You have to win. Do you think I ever settled for second? Do you think I made it this far by relying on my father’s influence? I made myself. Show me you can do the same, or you are worth nothing to me.”_

Even now, thousands of miles away from the senator, Draco felt the familiar adrenaline rush of a challenge looming ahead. Rationally, he knew it was stupid to get worked up over academics. It didn’t _really_ matter—he had never given a shit about school before—and he knew he could still get into Harvard even with C's on his transcript if his father made a generous enough donation to the board. But it was like Riddle had hardwired some competitive streak into his brain. Everything was a task, a _challenge_ , a chance for Draco to prove himself.

“Whoooa!”

Draco abruptly reentered the present when a large object came barreling towards him on a rusty bicycle. He sidestepped and a screaming Neville Longbottom flew past him, helplessly squeezing the broken brakes on his handlebars.

“Watch it, Longbottom!” Draco growled, glaring at the red-faced helmet-clad boy.

Blaise laughed next to him. “Classic.”

Draco dusted himself off. “ _Dumbass_.”

Blaise scrolled through his notifications as they entered the building. “Wait, Astoria and Theo are skipping today?  _Seriously?_ ”

“Yeah, didn’t you check the groupchat?”

“I was busy,” Blaise scowled. "We should've skipped too, damn it. _Three_ exams today, what the hell."

"We're already here." Draco said. "May as well get them over with."

Blaise said something about his GPA, but Draco had stopped listening. Across the hall, a cloud of bushy brown hair was scurrying through the crowd and towards Snape’s classroom. She was wearing the ugliest, most ill-fitting pair of jeans Draco had ever had the misfortune to witness, with a t-shirt that read _A WOMAN’S PLACE IS IN THE HOUSE AND THE SENATE_ and a pair of scruffy red Converse. With her hair piled ridiculously up in a messy bun, she looked like an ‘80s movie caricature of the classic basketcase.

Draco suppressed the bitterness seeping into his expression. Of all the losers in this school, Hermione Granger should've been the least problematic. She should've been _invisible._ Potter had always gotten on his nerves, Weasley had always been amusing entertainment, and Granger was always just _there,_ like an annoying opinionated fly buzzing through the halls.

But ever since the first day of the semester, when Draco learned they shared the exact same schedule, she’d been impossible to ignore. Riddle’s words haunted him every time he saw her— _you have to win, you have to win, you have to win—_ but how could he when Hermione Granger currently occupied the top of the class rank? The girl was wickedly smart.

Draco imagined how the senator would react to finding out about her. _“You’re telling me that you can’t even graduate as valedictorian because some_ nobody _is "smarter" than you and making you look like an idiot?  Pathetic.”_

“Dude, you okay?” It only took a second for Blaise to follow Draco’s gaze. Then he snorted. “Oh, the feminazi.”

“Is that even a word?” Draco said, still half-distracted by his thoughts.

“Only when it comes to man-hating feminists. I’m not saying I’m against feminism, but Theo’s got a point,” Blaise said as they entered Snape’s classroom. “There’s a difference between wanting equal rights versus, like, just going out and attacking dudes. Am I right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I mean, they’re crazy,” Blaise added, raising his voice as they walked past Granger’s desk. “They go around calling themselves _social justice warriors_  when really they’re just an annoying pain in the ass.”

Draco heard a sharp intake of breath and felt the full force of Granger’s glare shooting into their backs. He groaned internally. As much as he enjoyed a bit of verbal sparring against the little nerd, he really wasn't in the mood this morning.  _Thanks Blaise._

“As opposed to being a shallow sexist showoff?” Granger said loudly enough to make Blaise pause and turn back around. 

Draco did the same and took the opportunity to assess the girl's features. Her lips were pinched in a thin line and her cheeks looked flustered.  Beside her, Potter and Weasley unlatched their attention from their phones and watched her with a mixture of fear and admiration. Funny how often the two went together hand-in-hand when it came to Hermione Granger.

“That’s a good one,” Blaise mused. “I’ll have to file that in my list of comebacks against the evil rich patriarchy.”

“Who mentioned the patriarchy? I was only talking about _you,_ ” she shot back. “Specifically, how pathetic it must feel to resort to buying a Lamborghini just to compensate for your lack of balls.”

Weasley guffawed. “Get rekt.”

Draco stepped in before Blaise could lose his cool.  “It’s almost _painful_ listening to you talk, Granger. I can't wait for the day when you finally realize  _no one cares_ about your opinions so you can stop wasting your breath."

To his surprise, she didn’t bite back. Instead, she seemed calm—there was something triumphant in her expression. Draco remembered the threat she had left him with the last time they were alone together. _I know more than you think, so don’t push me, Malfoy._ He'd wanted to call her bluff, but he couldn't get past the convincing confidence she carried in her shoulders. Who the hell talked like that anyway? Who did she think she was?

“Does it hurt to hear the truth?” she asked, with her chin lifted. Understanding seared in her mud-brown eyes. “At least I say what's on my mind. At least  _I_ don’t have anything to hide.”

Draco felt his chest momentarily tighten as Hermione, still seated, gazed up at him with the ferocity of a lion watching its prey. It felt as if someone had jerked him to the ground and gutted him in the length of a second.

The bell rang. Students scattered and hurried to their desks. Snape swept into the classroom, not sparing a second glance at Blaise and Draco as he crossed over to his desk and began shuffling a stack of exams. Granger scoffed and looked at him for a second longer before turning her attention back to her textbook, her lashes shielding her eyes from his glare.

Blaise muttered something about getting back to their seats, and Draco nodded. He turned away from Granger's desk and felt something inside him snap and reorient. The dull ache that had settled in his chest over the summer—the blunt weights of pressure and paranoia—changed into something sharp, digging into his ribs like the point of a knife that made every other sensation fade away. Even the scowl on his face felt detached. Forced.

He strode to the back of the classroom and slumped into his seat, irritatedly thinking Theo was right—he really should've skipped all his classes today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- sorry for the wait! i had summer classes and shit but i'm back--at least for a few weeks before going back for my fall semester
> 
> \- despite the chapter's title, Sober and Sober II by Lorde really set the mood for draco's pov. If I had to pinpoint the modern Slytherin's aesthetic with a song, it would be Sober II without a doubt. something about those rich strings/eerie vocals/"holy sick divine nights" are just spot-on. thank Lorde.
> 
> \- gracias for the comments + kudos! xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a disappearance strikes hogwarts as most gossip-worthy. hermione thinks she might just catch a break.

The Appalachians ripened and burst in all its orange-gold glory like a monarch emerging from its chrysalis. Hermione, Harry, and Ron took full advantage of the cool weather with countless trips to Hogsmeade, where talking jack-o-lanterns and cobwebbed broomsticks decorated all the shop fronts and sparkly purple spiders dangled behind every window. The nostalgic scents of caramel apples and pumpkin pie wafted invitingly all throughout the town, inciting fierce competition among the local bakeries. Every once in a while, a tourist would emerge from the Shrieking Shack, pale-faced and muttering something about wanting their money back.

Autumn had truly arrived, and with October came a flurry of Hogwarts gossip and rumors of who-asked-who to the Homecoming dance. Hermione prided herself on keeping her head above it all, unlike Lavender Brown, who claimed " _I hate drama!_ " on a daily basis yet sniffed it out like a starving hyena. Hermione had packed so many things into her schedule she couldn't even _think_ about Homecoming.

The only piece of news she dwelled on was the mysterious disappearance of a blond classmate. Malfoy had vanished without a word around the last few days of September; since then, he’d been absent from their classes altogether. Even his Twitter and Instagram accounts fell silent.

Some people believed Malfoy had gone to Europe to shadow his father on a business trip, which sounded exactly like the kind of pretentious bullshit excuse he’d make up to skip school. But it didn’t make sense. School had begun only a month ago, and he’d talked such a big game on the first day about proving himself better than Hermione in all their classes; was he tired of competing already?

Unless the rumors were true, and he really was somewhere in Europe. In that case, the Fates had lost their minds. Immature, arrogant, bratty Malfoy attending his father’s business conferences? Preparing to take over the family company in fifteen years? 

_What next?_ Hermione thought amusedly. _Pansy Parkinson helping the homeless?_

*** 

**6:02 AM**

**Ginny: Hey girl are you gonna go to homecoming? Please please please say yes.**

**Ginny: hello??? dude u never turned off ur read receipts I know ur ignoring me**

**Ginny: HERMIONE**

**Ginny: you need to go! find a date and come with us!**

**Ginny: TREAT YOSELF!!!!**

Hermione heard the fifth in a series of loud buzzes as she pulled into the parking lot. She sent her phone a glare, knowing full well that Ginny was still pestering her about the stupid homecoming dance. She had made it clear that she didn't want to go, but Ginny was relentless, ranting about how Hermione "never did anything fun" and "needed to actually experience high school”.

Hermione pulled into a space and cut the engine. She arrived early today as she always did, yet the parking lot was oddly full. Across from her, a group of six stood around Ernie Macmillan's car, pumpkin spice lattes in one hand and iPhones in the other. A few spaces over, Astoria, Pansy, and Tracy stood in their purple cheer uniforms, gathered around a new Jeep. But the biggest crowd by far was the one centered around what looked like a red Mini Cooper. Hermione caught a flash of silvery blonde, and she tried to recall who in their school, besides Luna Lovegood (who always biked to school with Neville), had such a strange shade of hair.

Her phone buzzed again and Hermione caught a glance of Harry's name. She stuffed it into her backpack exasperatedly. "Not you too," she muttered. She grabbed her keys, backpack, and jacket, and exited her car, running into the school before Pansy’s cheer squad could spot her.

*** 

Hermione knew something was different as soon as she walked into her chemistry class. It was brighter than usual; someone had actually dared to open the blinds to reveal a periwinkle sky, brightening by the minute as the sun began to rise. For once, their chemistry classroom didn’t look like a dungeon from some medieval Scottish castle.

"Hermione!" Harry threw up his hands up when he saw her. "Where've you been?”

Hermione sat down next to Ron, who was too busy staring at a crowd forming around the center of the room to even notice her arrival.

"Traffic was bad this morning," she offered as an excuse. She turned and nodded towards the commotion where all her classmates swarmed a particular desk. ”What's going on? Did I miss something?”

Harry blinked at her. "Didn't you check your phone? I've been texting you about them all morning.”

"Who?”

"Viktor and Fleur, the exchange students. I think Fleur's still outside meeting up with her host's friends, but she has theatre for first block anyway so we probably won't see her until lunch. Viktor, though,” Harry said reverently, "Has AP Chem with us.”

Hermione frowned, unable to place why the name rang a bell. "Who's Viktor?”

"Um, only like, the best soccer player our age?" Ron blurted out.

"He's Bulgarian," Harry explained.

"Well if you guys like him so much, why don't you introduce yourselves to him?" Hermione said, amused by their starstruck expressions.

“And end up looking stupid like _them?_ ” Ron shook his head disapprovingly at their classmates. “Hermione, no, we’ve gotta play it cool.”

“Oh. Of course.” Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Then she remembered where she’d heard the name before. _Viktor Krum…_ “He’s from Durmstrang, isn't he?" she wondered aloud, remembering reading about the institute two summers ago. The school heavily focused on everything STEM-related, something Hermione could appreciate. Viktor Krum had been on the front page of their website and there'd been a whole section dedicated to listing his accomplishments as Durmstrang's star student.

"Yeah," Ron answered glumly. "Meaning he's probably already met Malfoy.”

Hermione’s thoughts jolted to a halt. ”How's that?”

Ron's expression darkened. “Apparently Malfoy went to visit Durmstrang this summer before interning in the RIP. His parents are thinking of sending him there next year and they wanted him to get a taste of their curriculum, or something like that.”

"And he met this Viktor guy while he was there?" Hermione said.

“Probably."

"No way," said Harry. "Draco might be rich enough to go to Durm, but that doesn't mean he's good enough. They only take the best.”

"Obviously, but look, I've seen the pictures on Instagram, I swear," Ron argued.

"Maybe they were photoshopped?”

"They were on Viktor's account. Why would he photoshop that?”

Hermione tuned out her friends' speculation and drew her attention back towards Viktor. Most of the students had scattered back to their seats with only seconds left until the bell, giving her a clear view of the new exchange student.

He wore a deep-set scowl that made him look older than eighteen, his dark eyes harboring a brooding melancholy Hermione thought only existed in BBC period dramas. He dressed nicely—almost as nice as Blaise Zabini—in a fitted shirt, a pair of tan-colored pants, and casual leather loafers. Judging by the barreled muscles visible through his shirt, he was probably the kind of guy who spent more time at the gym than in a classroom.

The first period bell interrupted her musings, and Snape strode into the classroom without a second glance at his new student.

"Textbooks out," he drawled as he shut the blinds. "You will be reading your lab instructions until 7:20. Don’t start the procedure until I say so. I know some of you may be fast readers, but as this will be a partnered project—“

A collective groan filled the room.

"—you may not continue until everyone else has finished reading.”

He paused once he reached his desk. “I also expect those of you who are experienced with this unit to offer assistance to our new student.”

Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown shot hopeful glances toward Viktor.

Snape's lips twisted into a sneer. "And by "experienced", I mean Miss Granger, since she seems to already know everything and is always so keen on proving it to everyone.”

Hermione had perked up at the mention of her name, but she quickly slumped back in her seat. Snape was only mocking her again. Helping a new student would only slow her down and add mistakes to her work, which the greasy bastard clearly wanted.

"Hey, entropy's the disorder one, right?" Ron whispered.

"Wait, isn't entropy the one that's always increasing?" Harry muttered.

Snape cleared his throat. "Am I interrupting something, Potter?”

Harry slowly met Snape's glare. Then, with the utmost solemnity: "Only yourself, sir.”

Half the class gasped and the other half hooted with laughter. Ron gave Harry a subtle fist pump.

"Quiet!" Snape demanded. He turned back to Harry, who was fighting back a grin. Snape's malicious black eyes lingered on him in a silent threat. "Watch. Your. Tongue. _Potter_.”

Hermione wondered if all the sneering Snape did had any permanent effect on his facial muscles. She couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him genuinely smile, except for maybe that time when Draco had "accidentally" knocked his elbow into Harry's finished solution and spilled it all over the floor. But that had still been pretty borderline.

Snape turned attention back to the class with his default sneer, a few degrees less intense than the ones he usually gifted Harry. "Your groups will be on the board once you're done reading," he snarled, picking up a green Expo marker. "You have ten minutes. Turn to page 394 and begin."

***

Hermione soon realized that partnering with Viktor Krum meant working with someone who could actually keep up with her, for once. She hardly had to teach him anything. The senior had already mastered most of the material from his studies in Durmstrang, and surprisingly, he studied quite a lot for someone who spent so much time on the soccer field.

Hermione reluctantly admitted to herself she might’ve judged his character too quickly. Despite his serious expressions, he regarded her in silent respect, complying with all the instructions she gave him without complaint. Hermione relished in the power. It wasn't often she had a boy her age paying her full attention and obeying her every command. 

She had to admit his accent was pretty adorable, too.

"Hermy-own-ninny?" He had repeated in confusion after she introduced herself.

"No," Hermione had corrected. "It's Her- _my_ -o-nee.”

"Her-my-o-nee," he repeated with something close to a smile. “Such an interesting name.”

Hermione handed him a pair of goggles. "Um...thanks?" She made a face as she snapped on her own pair.

"Maybe not as strange as others," Viktor admitted. “I’ve heard about your missing classmate—Draco Malfoy.”

“Yeah, well, he’s been gone for a week now. But don't let him hear you making fun of him when he comes back," Hermione said as she plugged in the Bunsen Burner and fiddled with the settings. "He takes himself pretty seriously.”

Viktor’s thick eyebrows knit together and he frowned. ”You know him well?”

"Unfortunately, I've known him for six years.”

"You do not like him," he observed.

"That's an understatement. Let me tell you something: _no one_ likes Malfoy. If they say they do, they're lying and it’s because they want something from him—money, drugs, or alcohol.” Hermione glanced around the room and saw Blaise working next to Theo, both of them oddly quiet without their leader. It was a welcome change.

Viktor nodded thoughtfully. "I met him last summer. He was, I think, full of himself.”

Hermione carefully measured out the solid they'd been given. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

"He didn't have much good things to say about your friends, when we talked. He said Harry Potter was an attention-seeker.”

Hermione tried not to scowl as she funneled the powder she'd measured into a test tube of DI water. "Don't believe him—Harry’s great. He really admires you, too. Malfoy’s just jealous of him because he's not as talented and popular. Actually, he's always been jealous of Harry, ever since sixth grade.”

If the mention of the feud between Harry and Draco intrigued Viktor, he didn't show it; he only handed Hermione a pencil so she could write down their progress.

Hermione glanced at him over the top of the beaker she was swirling. “What else did he say?”

“Hm?”

“Malfoy. Draco. Did he—did he mention me?”

“You? Ah, no. I think I would have remembered if he did.” Viktor offered her a brief smile, a flash of unexpected sweetness contained in the quirk of his lips. “But he did say something about…an irritating nerd he didn't like? I don’t remember, but it didn’t sound good.”

Hermione stifled a snort. “Of course it didn’t, the conceited jerk. He can’t stand it when _anyone_ is better at something than he is.” She swirled her beaker aggressively, accidentally sloshing some solution over the edge. “And you know what? Everyone here just _accepts_ it. Like, people just put up with his bullshit and turn a blind eye to every problematic thing he says and does! It’s ridiculous!”

“Ah.”

“If he weren’t so rich and _charming_ —and of course, that's total BS—people here would hate him. But instead, he gets away with everything just because his dad’s got enough money to buy up a continent. And then he acts so indifferent all the time like he has better things to do than get an education at one of the best high schools in the country. Like, everyone thinks he comes off as this gifted and talented paragon of high class culture who’s too cool to care about anything, but _ugh,_ everything he does is so—so _contrived!_ He’s a self-centered slimy snake with no respect for other people at all! _”_ Hermione paused to take a deep breath. “Pass me the stirring rod, please?”

Viktor’s jaw had unhinged slightly, but he closed it again and nodded before handing her the glass rod. Hermione stirred the solution over the Bunsen burner while Viktor jotted down his observations in a tiny blue scrawl. Every now and then, Hermione felt his gaze flicker away from the beaker and towards her face. She pretended not to notice and watched the steam rise from the beaker instead.

He didn’t bring up the topic of Malfoy again while they worked. Hermione thought maybe he had more tact than he let on. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Embarrassment flushed through her face when she realized she’d probably scared him off with her rant against Malfoy. But it felt so relievingto have a fresh pair of ears to listen to her opinions—someone unbiased by any preconceptions of the town they lived in and the people inside it.

They finished the procedure and filled in the rest of their lab report five minutes before the bell rang. Hermione stapled her work with Viktor’s and placed it on Snape’s desk at the front of the classroom, proudly noting Snape’s bemused expression. Her classmates shot her envious looks as she breezed past their lab benches. _Help!_ Ron mouthed imploringly as his beaker began emitting noxious fumes.

On her way back to her station, Hermione couldn’t help but glance towards the back of the classroom where dust was collecting on a desk that had been vacant for the past ten days. If Malfoy were here, would he have finished just as quickly as she had? Would he smirk and gloat that he’d done a better job? Where _was_ he, anyway?

A twinge of annoyed curiosity nagged at the corners of her conscious. Why did she care where he was? If he wanted to skip class for a week in the middle of fall semester, well, that was none of her business.

“Hermione?” Viktor’s voice broke through her thoughts.

“Huh?” she refocused her gaze to land on the dark-haired soccer star in front of her, whose large frame had moved to intercept her view of Malfoy’s empty seat.  


“I was asking what class you have next?" Viktor inquired as he shifted his backpack over his broad shoulders.

“Oh, I have AP Lang," Hermione answered, still half-distracted. ”Then lunch, then APUSH—that’s AP US History—and then AP Calc.”

Viktor lifted his dark eyebrows. "AP Calculus with professor Vector?”

Hermione glanced up to meet intense black eyes, noting how deep and endless they seemed. "Yeah. Are you in that class too?”

"Yes—I think so.”

"So we'll see each other again by the end of the day," Hermione said with what she hoped was a friendly smile.

Viktor hesitantly returned her smile with a warm one of his own, that softened the harsh lines around his eyes. Hermione thought it looked a lot better on him than his brooding scowl.

"I look forward to it, Hermione.”


	5. prodigals don't always come home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> girl talk with ron. hermione reaffirms her hermit status. the prodigal son returns.

**_(iMessage with Ginny W.)_ **

**Ginny: u know who would be a perfect homecoming date?**

**Hermione: ginny no**

**Ginny: a new european exchange student**

**Hermione: i told u i’m not going**

**Hermione: i’ll be busy anyway that weekend.**

**Ginny: don’t say you have to study**

**Hermione: well the SAT is in less than 2 months…**

**Ginny: exactly, and homecoming is in 2 weeks**

**Hermione: that doesn’t really make it a priority**

**Ginny: you deserve a break. treat yoself.**

**Ginny: and u don’t have to go with viktor i’m just teasing u lol**

**Ginny: fine, ignore me. but this conversation isn’t over.**

 “Is that Harry?”

Hermione glanced up distractedly. “Huh?”

Ron sat leaning back with his long legs propped on the ottoman between them. A fruit roll-up dangled from between his lips, forgotten, as he scrolled through something on his laptop that Hermione _knew_ wasn’t the lab report they were supposed to submit before midnight.

“No—it’s your sister, actually.”

Ron tore at the fruit roll-up and chewed. “What’s she want?”

“To drag me to Homecoming."

Ron barked out a laugh. Thankfully, they were tucked away near the back of the library, nestled in Hermione’s favorite cluster of armchairs and about as far away from Pince’s front desk as they could get. Ron had a habit of forgetting library rules.

“Are _you_ going?” Hermione asked after a short pause.

“‘Course I am,” Ron answered through another mouthful of fruit roll-up.

“You asking anyone to go with you?”

Ron shrugged with one shoulder. “Maybe.”

“Who?”

A faint redness colored Ron’s ears, and he buried his attention behind his laptop again, mumbling something so quickly Hermione didn’t catch it.

“What?”

He coughed and repeated himself, saying something that sounded like “fur.”

It took Hermione a few seconds to decode his mumbling. “Fur…? Oh wait, _Fleur?_ ” She recalled silvery blonde hair and glowing skin. “You’re going to ask _her_?”

Ron rolled his eyes at his laptop screen, though his face had turned quite red by this point. “Yeah.”

“Oh. Huh.” Hermione noted Ron’s nonchalance—awkward and horribly transparent, like a child caught in a lie. “So do you have a plan?”

“You mean, like, some kind of _proposal?_ ” Ron scratched at the base of his throat. “Uh, I thought I’d just go up to her during lunch and like…ask.”

Hermione nodded. “I see.” She carefully began arranging a few books on the table next to her into a neat stack.

Ron frowned. “You have that look on your face again.”

“What look?”

“The _Ron you’re being a dumbass again_ look.” He paused for a painfully long second and then said, with genuine concern, “Do you think she’s a bit out of my league?”

Hermione jiggled her leg and stared determinedly down at the books, trying to keep a straight face. “Well, I wouldn’t put it that way.”

At Ron’s insulted silence, Hermione added, “It’s just that you’ve never really talked to her. I don’t think she even knows who you are! Maybe you should introduce yourself first?”

Ron, still frowning, murmured, “Yeah, that’s true, I guess. She probably _doesn’t_ know I exist yet. I’m sure she knows Harry, but me…” He slumped back into the embrace of his armchair, his fiery hair blending into the burnt-orange fabric.

Hermione withheld a sympathetic grimace. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, your sister’s been trying to set me up with someone who’s probably on the same level as Fleur, so…”

“Yeah? Who?”

Hermione carefully placed _Sense and Sensibility_ on top of _Wuthering Heights_ , and it was her turn to blush as she muttered, “Viktor Krum.”

She looked up from her books. Ron’s left eyebrow was performing an incredibly confusing series of twitches, and his lips pressed together in a restrained grin, creating the unfortunate effect of making him look both constipated and excited at once.

“Don’t.” Hermione threatened.

“What? I’m not laughing, look.” He cleared his throat with a facade of utmost seriousness. “I was just thinking, that’s like, perfect actually.”

“How?”

“I can ask Fleur to Homecoming and you can ask Viktor and then we’ll both have dates.”

Hermione chewed the tip of her pen. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Totally.”

“Hm.”

Ron had apparently still been trying to maintain a straight face too, because as soon as Hermione met his eyes, his lips began to twitch and the facade crumbled. He doubled over, seizing with laughter. Hermione snorted but joined in a second later, unable to erase the picture of herself at Homecoming with Viktor Krum and Ron with Fleur Delacour. Soon she was laughing so hard her chest hurt and she had to force herself to breathe.

“Oh god,” she wiped her eyes. “I can’t.”

Ron clutched at his chest and wheezed. “No offense, but if you ever ended up dating anyone while in high school—“

Hermione kicked him in the shins and scoffed _a la_ Cher Horowitz. “As _if!_ You know I’d never date some dumb high school boy.”

“Even if they’re famous and a ten outta ten?”

“ _Especially_ if they’re famous and a ten outta ten.”

Ron gave her a lopsided smile—one that would’ve caused butterflies to flutter in Hermione’s stomach years ago. That giddiness had gradually dissipated with time, though his stupid grins still made her feel warm and safe, reassuring like a soft blanket. “Okay, yeah. _That_ , I believe.”

 

***

 

A few hours later and Hermione was mulling over her Quizlet app, holed up in the small Starbucks sandwiched cozily between Honeydukes and Zonko’s. With tourist season officially over, the coffee shop had returned to its usual state of emptiness, most locals preferring the comforting ambiance of Madam Puddifoot's and Ollivander's. Hermione had counted at most a dozen customers despite her attempts at drawing a cute pumpkin squad on the chalkboard. After studying another flashcard set for the SAT, she spent another listless hour cleaning up and repackaging leftover food. Now that it was almost closing time, there was nothing left to do but wait for the hour hand to reach 11 and anticipate the lonely chiming of the Hogsmeade clock bells.

She heaved a sigh and glanced outside the windows towards the lantern-lit cobblestone streets, resting her chin on her hand. Just a few miles away, Harry and Ron were probably kicking off a long night of drinking games with half of Hogwarts. Ever since Sirius had given Harry permission to use Grimmauld Place for parties ( _"I totally would've wrecked this place when I was your age if my mom hadn't scared everyone off…do what your poor godfather never could, Harry”_ ), Harry had slowly begun inviting more and more friends over on weekend nights.

Hermione had only made an appearance at one of Harry's parties: her first and last. The whole night had been an uncomfortable haze of trying to avoid Ron, who'd been going through his _make out with Lavender 24/7_ phase, and consequently running into Sirius, who'd been revisiting a nostalgic leopard-print leggings phase. Then, in a search for a quiet corner to study, she’d accidentally walked in on Fred and Angelina “paying their respects” to Mrs. Black’s portrait in a dusty forgotten corner. (It had taken weeks before she could look Fred in the eye again, though he took the whole thing with an extremely gracious amount of good humor). A year later and nothing had changed—Hermione still didn't see the appeal of getting drunk with her classmates, which had earned her the nickname _Hermione the Hermit_. And yet, she couldn't help but think wryly, watching Harry and Ron make fools out of themselves sounded so much more entertaining than sitting around a coffee shop for five hours with nothing to do. Boredom was a slow and painful death.

Almost as if in a sudden answer to her pain, the door bell interrupted the silence. Hermione lifted her head from her hands. A chilly breeze swept through the open door, and a tired greeting was barely escaping Hermione’s lips when she saw him—like a ghost standing in the doorway, pale and still.

Alarm bells and sirens and flaming _DO NOT INTERACT_ signs flashed through her head. She looked him up and down, from hooded blond head to loose grey joggers to spotless white Adidas. It’d been two weeks since she’d last seen him and all she could do was splutter out an offended sound of disgust. 

“You’re back.”

The fresh surprise painted on Draco’s face lasted only seconds before he recovered with a scowl of annoyance that matched Hermione’s perfectly. “Ah, shit,” he muttered, his voice hoarse like rusted sarcasm. “Forgot you worked here, Granger.”

Hermione felt her mouth part. “You… _forgot?_ ” she stuttered, wanting to point out the irony. How often had he called her “ _barista”_ in that condescending voice this year? And now he was back after two weeks and he just _happened_ to step through the door of the very place she worked, because he’d conveniently forgotten all about her sad little life working in food service?

“Yeah, right. What do you want?”

Draco snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t come here so I could waste my time talking to _you._ ”

Hermione almost envied his flawless ability to inject such heavy implication into a single word. “Oh, so you have ‘standards’ now?”

He drew closer, and the details of his face grew clearer in the lowlight. For once, Hermione noticed, he wasn’t wearing that half-smile—the one that gave the impression he knew something no one else did. Dark circles had replaced the laughter lines usually lingering around his eyes, making them seem deeper set into the shadows and angles of his face than usual. Added to the translucent skin stretched across the prominent bones of his face, the dim lighting gave his face an strange effect: he looked like he hadn’t eaten or slept in weeks.

Draco gave her a look tinged with mild annoyance. "Listen. It’s been a long day and I’m jetlagged as fuck. Can we, like, _not_ do this right now?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at his tone. For the first time since she’d known him, he sounded like he was trying to be sensible _._ She planted her hands on the countertop in front of her, as if doing so would suppress her curiosity. “Fine. Let’s make this quick then.”

“Agreed.” He opened his wallet and thumbed through a few bills. “Give me a grande medium roast.”

“We’re actually all out.”

“What?”

“We’re…all…out.” Hermione said, savoring slow change in Draco’s expression.

“How can you be all _out?”_

“Because we’re closing in a few minutes, obviously,” Hermione mimicked his condescending tone. “People in this town don’t usually come in right before eleven PM asking for coffee.”

He rubbed his jaw and hummed. “Okay. Then I guess you'll have to do a pour-over."

_I don’t have to do a damn thing for your entitled ass,_ Hermione wanted to reply, but she knew there wasn’t any point. Technically, he was the customer, and the customer was always right.

“I don’t know your manager,” Draco drawled at her hesitation, “But i’m sure he knows who _I_ am—“

“Fine! I’ll do a pour-over _._ ” Hermione gritted through her teeth, and she had to consciously clench her fists by her sides to keep from reaching across and slapping him. Physically assaulting a customer was probably another offense that could cost her job. “Just shut up and wait. And it’s $2.46, so—“

He practically tossed a five at her. “Keep the change.”

Hermione placed the bill into the register before slamming it shut. “Glad to see you’re still an asshole.”

Draco’s eyes raked over her. “I would call you an uptight bitch, but we both know how much of an understatement that is.”

Hermione bit her lip until it hurt and she spun around to face the espresso machine, fuming. She caught her reflection in the metallic surface. The tops of her cheeks had grown such a dark pink that any unsuspecting customer might’ve thought she’d been blushing instead of brainstorming a hundred ways to murder a classmate.

Shaking her head and mumbling a word of reassurance to herself, Hermione set to making his coffee. She waited for Malfoy to say something else while she worked, preparing for the onslaught of insults he’d throw at her back, but nothing came. For once, the albino devil was silent. Hermione stared at the dripping coffee, refusing to turn around and acknowledge the horrible gaping silence. She allowed two unnerving minutes to tick by as she tried to observe his reflection in the metal, but all she caught was the sight of her own face - a brown distortion of annoyed features.

Was he on his phone? Or was he just _watching_ her? The thought of it made Hermione’s neck tingle, but she refused to turn around and give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d made her curious enough to face him again. Unsettled, her mind reeled. Something was different—something was _wrong_ with him tonight.

She tried to remember all the rumors that had spread through Hogwarts while he’d been gone. The most popular theory was that he’d taken a spontaneous trip to L.A or Miami, though Hermione could easily dismiss that as fake news. He hadn’t returned with a tan—he looked even paler, if possible. The less popular rumor was that he’d gone to Europe to shadow his father on an important business deal. Hermione had never understood the business Draco's family dealt in, but she knew how greatly Lucius valued his company and how Draco was someday expected to inherit it, so maybe that rumor wasn’t totally out of the question—

“Are you done yet?”

Hermione glowered at the ceiling. “You wanted fresh coffee, so you’re gonna wait for fresh coffee.”

Ever so slowly, she finished pouring and reached for a lid. After making sure it was only partially sealed onto the cup, she handed him the cup without adding a sleeve. Contempt flared within her when he took it wordlessly without even looking at her—as if she were _unworthy_ of his gaze—and made a point of securing the lid and sliding a paper sleeve onto the cup.

"Anything else, your assholiness?" she couldn't help but quip.

Draco had already begun to leave, but at her question he paused and turned back around to look at her with narrowed frustrated eyes. ”Do you have a _problem_ , Granger?”

Hermione chewed her lip angrily at the irritation in his tone. How could he pretend he was suddenly so mature and above their rivalry? Above _her?_ As if _she_ were the pathetic attention-seeking bully with nothing better to do than pick fights, and _he_ was too good to sink down to her level? She forced herself to hold her breath, telling herself _hoe don’t do it, don’t take the bait._ But she couldn’t abide by the dullness in his eyes or the expectant tilt of his head. She wanted— _needed_ —the familiar comfort of his insults, his scowl, the heat behind his voice.

”Where’ve you been?” Hermione allowed accusations to flood her tone. “Where did you go? Why are you _here?_ ”

“Hate to say it, Granger, but it’s really none of your damn—“

“People don’t just _disappear._ Especially not when they have commitments—or when they’ve made promises—“

“Promises?”

“Threats.”

Draco’s brow relaxed as comprehension dawned. “Jesus Christ, did you _miss_ me, Granger?”

Hermione scoffed in surprise. _I wouldn’t miss your vile disgusting presence if you disappeared for a million years, Malfoy_. “Yeah, I was counting down the _days_ until your return."

Draco lifted the coffee cup to his lips and paused. “Or maybe you missed having competition.”

Hermione opened her mouth to deny it, but for once, he wasn’t completely wrong. Classes had almost grown too easy without him around, though she’d rather fail her midterms than ever admit he had become her new motivation to overachieve in school.

After a measurable amount of sipping coffee whilst gauging Hermione’s reaction, Draco made a quiet noise of disbelief. “You really thought I was gonna follow through with that stupid bet and waste my time trying to get a 4.0 this year, just to make myself look _better_ than you? God, you’re more gullible than I thought. I don’t need good grades to prove anything…” He let the unspoken intention linger in his eyes. _Unlike you._

“So that’s it?” she said. “You’re just _done?_ You’re forfeiting?”

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” 

“Maybe you should.”

“Maybe you should try minding your own business.”

The whip of his voice made Hermione’s spine tingle. “Why don’t you just say where you went?” she growled.

“You really wanna go there, barista?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“Yeah? So you wanna know why I left this shitty town and this shitty school?” His voice rose with intensity through every word as he stepped closer, closer, until he brushed against the countertop separating them. “You must be _dying_ with curiosity, not knowing something for once, aren’t you? Well sorry to disappoint, but guess what? I don’t have to tell you a damn thing. You’re not…what’s that word you like to use… _entitled_ to knowing any of my business.”

For a second they glared at each other in silence, Hermione stretching upwards on her toes, instinctively trying to even their height difference, Draco gripping the coffee cup in his hands so tightly it looked like it was about to crush beneath his knuckles.

“Y’know what? Forget I asked.” Hermione said, her heart beating too quickly for her brain to follow. She nodded stiffly towards the door. “Get out. Go home. Get drunk with your dumb friends and act like the child you are. I don’t give a damn.”

He stared down at her for another second. Then, like a receding tsunami, like _always,_ his anger faded into something controlled—withheld in the firm line of his mouth and the steadily constructed breathing that made a metronome of his chest.

“Yeah.” He downed the rest of his coffee and tossed the empty cup in the trash. “Thanks for the welcome back, Granger.” He paused and looked at her, his eyes flat and glacial as his voice. “See you in class.”

Hermione pointedly stared off to her left until he’d turned around and walked out the door. Then she watched the darkness swallow him, the heavy October night trailing in his wake. As soon as the door swung shut, Hermione exhaled in a rush, finding her breath again while her head spun. Her eyes landed on the clock. _10:58._ Almost closing time.

She allowed herself a few seconds to recover before she shook herself out of the daze. _Clean._ She had to finish cleaning. She had to find that towel and clean the drips of coffee splattered on the bar and close down the shop.

A soft _ding_ punctured the silence before she could even begin. Hermione wiped her shaking hands and pulled her phone out from her back pocket.

**Harry: omg guess what**

Perplexed, Hermione rubbed her face tiredly. If he was drunk texting her again…

**Harry: there’s this new dp article**

She sighed, unfazed, and typed out a quick reply.

**Hermione: god not another one**

**Harry: no for real…read this**

**Harry: http://www.dailyprophet.com/business/director-moody-reopens-fbi-investigation/index.html**

Hermione clicked the link without a second thought at its contents. After a few seconds of loading, it opened to a Daily Prophet headline:

**_DIRECTOR MOODY OPENS FBI INVESTIGATION ON LUCIUS MALFOY_**

_By Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet_

Updated 3:55 PM ET, Fri October 13, 2015

Hermione blinked. The words jumped out of the screen one at a time; precisely three of them bigger and bolder than others. _FBI. Investigation. Malfoy._

“Oh,” she heard herself murmur aloud.

_ Oh. So that's why... _

Her eyes traveled to the door Draco had walked through just a minute ago, half hoping he'd still be in sight. Through the glass, fog hung above the streets and masked pinpoints of lamplight like a shroud and nothing but dead leaves skittered through the streets. He was gone. Hermione pursed her lips in thought as her thoughts jumped in circles. If she had seen this article sooner, then she could’ve asked him about it—maybe. 

_Would_ she have asked him? Would he have answered?

******Harry: lol malfoy’s not gonna have much to brag about now is he**

Hermione stared at Harry’s message, wanting to reply with a short _lol yeah,_ but for some reason she couldn’t summon the same humor Harry found in the situation. A creeping uneasiness steeped through her thoughts, accompanied by an image: a face, gaunt and disturbing, paper-pale with exhaustion. Her brows knotted as she remembered their conversation—their off-kilter game of threats and lies and the forced calm he’d projected.

In the distance, the clock tower bells began to chime.  Hermione tugged herself out from her thoughts and breathed out slowly.

**Hermione: yeah, i guess not**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man i’ve been writing this chapter forever and I told myself, okay, just publish it before november comes, and I actually did! (after binge watching stranger things…but hey, still got it done)! zara: 1, procrastination: 5
> 
> chapter title comes from We All Fall Down by the Rigs
> 
> thanks for reading! a comment would make my day :)


	6. insanity laughs under pressure we're breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> news travels quickly of the Malfoys' coup de grace, and the 2 proudest students at hogwarts begin to grow desperate.

“Say what you will about FBI Director Alastor Moody, but when he’s handed a new political target, he fixates _without hesitation_ on the _facts_.” Ron read from his phone before shoving a spoonful of chocolate pudding into his mouth.

Hermione sighed. “You don’t have to read it again, Ron, we’ve all read it—“

“Director Moody confirmed this afternoon in a letter to congressional leaders that the FBI has reopened an investigation on _Lucius Malfoy, Chairman and CEO of Malfoy Insured_ , despite heavy sentiment among _some_ senators that the business magnate committed _no_ criminal activity,” Ron continued. 

“And you don’t have to read it that dramatically,” Hermione said in an undertone, trying to block out Ron’s nasal imitation of Rita Skeeter as she typed out a (third) email draft to Dr. Dumbledore.

Harry snorted into his pudding beside her. “No, keep going,” he gestured with his spoon. “It’s too good.”

Ron cleared his throat. “In said letter, the Director stated that Malfoy had illegally contributed _millions_ to presidential campaigns in the past—namely, Senator Riddle’s failed run for the presidency in 1999. Sources claim that Lucius Malfoy has gathered his resources once more in an effort to take advantage of the precedent set forth by _Citizens United v. FEC_ (2010), repeating the actions to which he pleaded innocent 16 years ago when charged with tax evasion and… _illegal campaign financing_.”

“Like that’s even a surprise anymore…” said Harry.

“The difference between this election season and the 2000 election?” Ron kept reading, despite Hermione’s visible cringing. “Senator Riddle has now acquired a shiny new superPAC: _A Pure America._ Will the FBI press charges given Malfoy’s tainted past? Or will Malfoy’s barricade of top-tier attorneys prevail once more and protect him from the truth-seeking eye of the Director?”

“Okay, enough, please _,_ ” Hermione interrupted Ron’s monologue with a pained grimace. She straightened from her position on the leather recliner next to where the boys were sitting on the carpet. “First of all, Ron, don’t ever try imitating Rita Skeeter, ever again. Second, can we stop talking about this and move on? I’m feel like we’re all starting to become Rita. I mean, it’s crazy and I’m glad the Malfoy’s are finally being—“

“Exposed?” Harry offered.

“Investigated. But this doesn’t mean anything yet.”

“Malfoy’s been back in town since Saturday but still hasn’t come back to school...I think that means something,” said Ron. “Like, you’re the _only one_ who’s seen him ever since he’s gotten back.”

Hermione rubbed her forehead, staring down at unfinished email. It had been three days since her strange encounter with Draco, and the more she thought about it, the more uncomfortable it made her. She didn’t like it—knowing the news of this investigation had actually _affected_ him, Draco Malfoy, the boy who was never affected by anything.

“I don’t know.” Hermione shook her head. “But I don’t wanna think about it. I just wanna focus on—“

“School,” Harry and Ron said in unison, rather dully.

“No, actually, I was going to say that I want to focus on S.P.E.W.”

“Oh.” Ron suddenly grew interested in his phone again, while Harry avoided Hermione’s gaze.

“Which isn't going very well, thanks for asking.”

“Yeah?” Harry said.

“Yeah. There are only 6 members and we need 7 for it to exist as an actual club.”

“Says who?”

“The _Hogwarts’ Handbook for Student Clubs and Societies.”_

“So…what does that mean?” Ron asked.

“That means it’s getting disbanded if I don’t find another person to sign up.” Hermione combed her hair back, yanking it into a ponytail. “But don’t worry, I’m emailing Dumbledore about it right now. Hopefully he’ll understand instead of making me find another member.”

“Have you asked around?” Ron suggested. “Like, I’m sure there’s gotta be _someone…_ ”

He trailed off when he observed Hermione’s dejected expression.

“I’ve asked pretty much everyone.” Hermione said. “Seamus, Dean, and Jordan said they have basketball practice every day. Cho and her friends are already in a thousand other clubs. Lavender, Parvati, and Padma said they’re too busy writing for the school paper. I even asked a few freshmen like Colin Creevey—no luck. Everyone’s so busy.” She bit her lip and glanced up to meet identical expressions on her friends’ faces: bemused sympathy. “What?”

“Nothing! It’s a great cause, I honestly think it is,” said Harry. “But I think you need to work on your pitch. Publicize it. Make it sound...cool _._ ”

“Empowering women _is_ cool.”

“I never said it wasn’t,” Harry said quickly. “I just mean, like, what are we actually gonna do in this club?”

“If you’d been paying attention to me these past few weeks, you’d know. I’ve already planned five fundraisers and twelve weekends of volunteering at the Hogsmeade Community Center.”

Ron winced. “Yeah, that’s the thing…twelve weekends at the homeless shelter is a lot of time.”

Hermione shut her laptop, giving her friends an annoyed frown. “It’s a community center, not just a homeless shelter _._ And trust me, it’ll be worth it. I mean, it might be a bit boring at first...”

Ron raised his eyebrows meaningfully at Harry.  _You think?_ he mouthed.

Hermione threw a nearby cushion at his head, and Ron ducked, nearly face-planting right into his plastic container of chocolate pudding.

“Hey! That—“

Another flying cushion hit him squarely in the face.

“Okay, okay!” He raised his hands in surrender. “It’ll be very fun and worth it. I’m very excited.”

“So you’ll sign up?” Hermione said archly.

Ron nodded. “Of course, of course. I’m a very proud sp—S.P.E.W member. Very proud.”

Hermione snorted and ignored Harry as he stifled a laugh beside her. “If only I believed you.”

 

***

 

When Dumbledore didn’t reply the next night, Hermione brushed it off, assuming he probably hadn’t seen her email yet. His inbox was probably constantly flooded with emails. No problem. She still had a week and a half to get S.P.E.W approved, anyway.

When her inbox was still empty Friday morning, she decided to keep waiting a little bit longer—he _was_ an awfully busy old man, after all. She’d heard from Harry that Dumbledore had recently been emailing Dolores Umbridge and arguing with her over the Hogwarts curriculum and faculty members. Evaluating student clubs was probably the lowest of his priorities.

But by next Tuesday, when she _still_ hadn’t gotten a reply, Hermione began to worry. Maybe it was time to take matters into her own hands. Clearly, Dumbledore had either completely missed her email or forgotten about it. The deadline for getting new student organizations approved was rapidly approaching, and Hermione was _not_ about to let the months of S.P.E.W. planning go to waste. She had a whole portfolio of ideas to show him.

She made a beeline towards the main office as soon as the dismissal bell rang, hoping to catch Dumbledore before he got bogged down by other students. She knocked on his door a second before pushing it open. “Hi Dr. Dumbledore, I just wanted—oh.” Hermione stopped with embarrassment when she realized Dumbledore was in the middle of speaking with another student. Dumbledore looked up, his blue eyes shining behind his half-moon glasses with amusement. “Sorry, um, I’ll just go outs—wait— _Malfoy?_ ”

How the strikingly bright blond head had completely escaped her notice when she first walked in, Hermione didn’t know. But now she couldn't tear her eyes away from him.

“Granger,” he sneered politely.

“What is _he_ doing here?” Hermione blurted out.

“We had…ah…scheduled a meeting to discuss something,” Dumbledore said in a kind murmur that Hermione hadn’t expected. She didn’t miss the slight emphasis on the word _scheduled._

She blinked. “Oh. Sorry Dr. Dumbledore, I…I should’ve schedule a meeting too—“

“Quite alright, Hermione.” He rubbed his chin and nodded. “We were just finishing. In fact, I have a board meeting of my own to attend in a few minutes. Is there anything I can help you with before I leave?”

_A few minutes?_ That was hardly enough time to show him her portfolio. “Um, well…” Hermione fidgeted with her backpack straps. Out of the corner of her eye, she sensed Malfoy watching her. She tried to ignore him. “Yes, actually, I was going to ask you if you could take a look at my ideas for S.P.E.W.”

“The new organization you emailed me about?”

“Yes…" she faltered. "You saw that?”

“I did,” Dumbledore said, a hint of guilt in his voice. “I would've replied if I hadn’t been so swamped with other matters. But I did get the chance to look over the issue and…well, the rules still apply.”

“But—I was wondering if you could maybe make an exception—“

“I’m sorry, Hermione, but there has to be a cutoff somewhere.” Dumbledore interrupted apologetically, his smile too sympathetic for comfort.

Hermione nodded, unable to say anything.

He rose from his chair and donned a long grey coat. “Now I truly regret the inconvenience of all this, but I have to be on my way. Dolores can get quite controlling if she’s left alone for too long. I hope you understand.”

Hermione withheld her protests guiltily. “Of course, sir. No need to apologize. I should be apologizing for not scheduling an appointment sooner.”

Dumbledore dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “It’s been a difficult week for all of us.” He paused in the middle of adjusting his scarf and glanced at Malfoy, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet. “Draco. Keep my suggestion in mind, would you?”

Something unspoken passed between them so quickly Hermione almost missed it. An arched eyebrow from Dumbledore. A briefly reluctant nod from Malfoy.

Hermione tried not to stare at the blond as he shrugged on his coat. As much as she’d tried to block it out over the course of the week, she suddenly couldn’t un-hear Ron’s annoying Skeeter impression. Curiosity dug its heels into her thoughts. How much of it had been true? Judging by Dumbledore’s expression, there was something much more serious at play than she'd thought.

“Hermione?” Dumbledore said. He was holding the door open for her and gesturing for her to pass through.

Hermione blinked and quickly shuffled through. Draco followed her out wordlessly. Dumbledore then gave them each of them a pat on the shoulder, announcing a lighthearted goodbye in the same pleasant tone he always used, before parting ways with them. He was gone in seconds, disappearing down the other end of the hall, and once again, Hermione realized with an unpleasant jolt that she was alone with Malfoy.

“Spew? _Really?_ ” was the first thing he said.

Hermione stared ahead stubbornly as they walked back towards the main office. “Yes. Really. I was trying to get Dumbledore to…approve it.”

Draco worked it out quickly. “No one wants to join your stupid club, huh?”

“That’s _not_ true. Of course people want to join. Everyone’s just—busy.”

He snorted. “When people say they’re busy, it means they don’t care. They just don’t want to admit it to your face.”

Hermione glowered at him, but he wasn’t paying enough attention to her to even notice. It seemed he’d regained his lofty manners since the last time she’d seen him. 

“Not everyone can be a dick every single day of the week like you, Malfoy.” She dodged a few freshmen in glittery purple cheer uniforms. They batted their eyelashes and purposely bumped into Draco as they sauntered by. Hermione rolled her eyes. “Anyway. At least I had something _important_ to talk to Dumbledore about.”

“Hm. Funny, I was gonna say the same thing.”

“Yeah? What were you doing there? No wait, let me guess.” Hermione said. “You’ve skipped three and a half weeks of school and you’re in trouble because of it now.”

“You’re assuming I care _,_ ” he drawled. He pushed open one of the doors leading outside and made sure not to hold open for Hermione.

She pushed against it with an exasperated huff and followed him out, trailing behind him by a few steps. “No, wait a second…That’s sixteen unexcused absences, which means…” She stopped and her eyes widened. “You’ve been suspended _,_ haven’t you? Like, _long-term_ suspended?”

“And if that were true, how would you know that?” he asked over his shoulder.

“It’s not hard to guess,” she said, hurrying to catch up with him. “Hogwarts’ Code of Conduct says any student with over fifteen unexcused absences in a row automatically receives a long-term suspension.”

“You’ve read the Code of Conduct?”

“We all had to sign the form saying we read it at the beginning of freshman year. Of course I did.”

“Of course you did,” Draco muttered at the same time, pulling a key out from his pocket. They’d stopped in front of a dark silver Porsche that gleamed so brightly it almost hurt to look at.

“But…wouldn’t Dumbledore count some of those absences as excused because of—“ Hermione stopped. _Because of what’s happened to your dad,_ she’d meant to say, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to bring that up yet. "Because of, um..."

Draco rubbed his forehead and for a second, Hermione thought he was going to lash out.  “Apparently I was supposed to turn in a note to attendance before taking time off," he said. He turned halfway to glance at her, then paused and said a bit more tersely, “So yeah, I got suspended. Because I didn't write a fucking note.”

Hermione studied his face. He looked worse than the last time she’d seen him, his eyes more bloodshot, his cheeks even hollower. She didn’t want to think it, but he almost looked like the people that showed up at the Hogsmeade Community Center for AA meetings.

And then it hit her. _Hogsmeade._ Hermione’s eyes widened a fraction.

“Stop doing that,” Draco muttered.

“Huh—what?”

“ _Staring._ ”

Hermione fought the urge to avert her gaze while her mind reeled and clicked. An idea had begun forming in her head, so brilliantshe had to admit she was quite impressed with herself. “I’m not _staring._ I’m thinking. And I just realized—I might know how to fix all this.”

“The hell are you talking about?”

Hermione took a step closer towards him, not looking away from his guarded eyes. “Do you want to be suspended? Be honest.”

“Do I want to drive all the way over here, sit in the same class as you every day, and listen to lectures about the same shit over and over again?”

“Well clearly not,” Hermione said. “But you _do_ want to graduate on time, don’t you? If you get suspended, you’d have to stay behind at Hogwarts an extra year. Imagine that. Being a super-senior. It’d be _humiliating_.”

Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced around. The parking lot was nearly empty by now. He turned back to her, his eyes narrowing a fraction. “Okay. What’s your point?”

“I think I might know of a way to get you possibly un-suspended.”

“You _think_ you _might_ know how to get me _possibly_ un-suspended.”

“Well obviously I’m not a hundred percent sure about it. But it could work.”

Draco looked at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to laugh and confess it was all a joke. “So what’s in it for you?”

“S.P.E.W.” Hermione answered. “I need one more member to join before this Friday for it to be an official organization. If no one joins, then—well, you heard what Dumbledore said. It can’t get approved.”

Draco huffed out a short laugh. “Oh _Jesus,_ no. You’re not actually asking me to—?”

“Shut up. I don’t _want_ to.” Hermione said, fighting down embarrassment. “But I’ve asked everyone and no one wants—no one has time to join. If you did, though, you wouldn’t even have to come to our meetings. All you’d have to do is put your name on our roster and sign up for weekly emails and volunteer at the Hogsmeade Community Center—“

“Are you serious? What do you think—“

“ _Listen to me._ If you want to get the suspension appealed, there’s only one way I can think of to do it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing this is in the Code of Conduct?”

“Yeah. It says that if you sign up for a certain amount of community service through a school organization, and if that organization’s president writes a letter of proof for you, the principal can lift your suspension."

“Letter of proof?”

“To confirm that you did all the community service you claimed."

“So…assuming this is legit, and assuming I even _want_ to get this appealed,” Draco said slowly, “Can’t I just volunteer for NHS?”

“No, that’s not how it works,” Hermione said exasperatedly. “You’re the co-president of that. You can’t volunteer under an organization you’re leading. You can’t, like, write your _own_ letter of proof. Then Dumbledore and the board would think you were cheating.”

“Then why would I _ever_ want to volunteer under spew?”

Hermione shrugged. “Do you have any other options?”

She watched as Draco processed her question. She could almost envision his train of thought as he filtered through all the clubs at Hogwarts. There were all the artsy clubs, which hardly offered opportunities for volunteering. There was the environment club—but that was clearly out of the question given how much Draco had emotionally scarred poor Neville. There were the academic honor societies, but all the kids leading those were equally terrified of Draco. And then there were the popular volunteer clubs like the DA, which Harry and Cedric led. Cedric was generally nice, but his fair streak meant he wasn’t soft enough to help someone like Malfoy. And they both knew Harry would rather commit a felony before ever allowing Draco membership into the DA.

“So?” Hermione said after a few more seconds. She suppressed the anxiety building in her chest, along with the tiny bit of hope that _maybe_ there was still a chance for S.P.E.W. “What do you think?”

Draco exhaled, his breath appearing in a puff of white. “I think it sounds ridiculous. It’s never going to happen.”

“Malfoy, listen—I really think Dumbledore would approve of this idea—“

“You,” he said as he opened the door to his car, “are _delusional_.”

“So you’re just gonna take the suspension? Stay at home for the rest of the semester and allow yourself to fall behind?” Hermione prodded. “You’re gonna stay at Hogwarts for one extra year—a whole _year—_ while everyone else gets to graduate in 2017?”

Draco slid into the drivers’ seat and pulled a pair of reflective Wayfarers over his eyes. “I’ll figure it out.”

Hermione almost wanted to stomp her foot petulantly. “You’re such a pathetic _,_ lousy slacker! Why can’t you just give it a shot?”

“Give _what_ a shot?” he asked, turning to Hermione with his eyebrows raised. “AP classes? Your feminist club? I’m good.”

Hermione couldn’t see his eyes behind the shades he wore, but the inflection in his voice told her he wasn’t joking. Did he really think there was nothing left for him here?

Her brow wrinkled as she surveyed him. She caught her disgusted expression in the reflection of his sunglasses and hoped he took note. “Fine. If you’re okay with being a loser, then don’t come back.” She took a few steps away from his car. “But you still have a few days to decide. If you change your mind by Friday, just—“

He shut the door and revved up the engine, drowning out the rest of her words.

“—message me on Facebook.”

Hermione glared at his car as he drove away. _Jackass._

The reality of the situation began sinking into her chest like a block of lead as she began walking back to her car. S.P.E.W wasn’t going to get approved this year. She wasn’t going to have something to call her own—something to make her college application shine—something she could proudly say _made a difference_. After all that planning over the summer…none of it was going to happen, just because she couldn’t get enough people to sign up for it.

_Maybe Malfoy’s right,_ she thought for the first time. No one wanted to join S.P.E.W because no one _cared_. Not even Dumbledore, apparently. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise after observing her two best friends’ apathy, but it still hurt to reflect upon. 

The more Hermione mourned it, the angrier she grew. All the polite lies, the _“I’m so sorry, I’d love to, but…”_ apologies she’d gotten…she would’ve rather had her classmates reject her outright. They’d given her enough false sympathetic smiles this week to last a lifetime and she had actually been gullible enough to _believe_ them.

In retrospect, she thought as she reached her old Honda, at least Draco had been honest with her. Rude as usual, but honest in that no-bullshit way he reserved for their conversations. She’d take one of his derisive sneers over a fake smile any day, even if it meant living with yet another rejection.

 

***

 

Exactly forty-nine hours later, Hermione’s phone lit up with a notification: a message, only three words long.

**_Draco Malfoy: whatever. i’m in._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so it begins... :)
> 
> thanks for the lovely comments!


	7. breathing life into a nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> draco makes a tough decision before returning to hogwarts. the world moves on.

The Hogwarts library, Draco decided, was the most impractical room he’d ever set foot in. Whatever genius designed the place had clearly no sense of direction. Why were the rows of bookshelves so crooked? Why were the aisles so cramped? Why was the _Nonfiction: Biology_ section next to the _Best of Historical Romance_ section? Were they _trying_ to build an inescapable maze?

The only benefit of the lacking design was that no one would ever find the spot Granger had chosen for their impromptu meeting—a small nook near the back of the library with a window seat, a few chairs, and complete silence. They could have a thirty-minute conversation here without anyone knowing. Of course, Granger could also probably murder him here and he could die a slow and painful death without anyone noticing his rotting body until three days later. 

He turned his attention away from the dusty bookshelves and back to the Thing That Never Shut Up. She was perched on the window seat with her back to the window and her feet propped up on the only comfortable chair, forcing Draco to sit in the other one (wooden, dusty, creaky, _rocking_ ). Behind her was a drab view of the Black Lake, which Draco couldn’t really see anyway given the cloud of hair the size of Russia obscuring nearly every inch of the glass pane. 

He studied her hair with mild disgust. She’d tied it back into a ponytail today, which only made her curls fan out in every possible direction. He almost wanted to reach out and tug one just to see if it felt as springy as it looked—

“Malfoy, _listen._ ” The Tiny Anger Machine growled, kicking him in the the kneecap.

His foot swung outwards reflexively and he swore as ringing pain shot through his bones. “Have you ever considered _not_ resorting to physical assault whenever you’re mad?“

“Oh shut up. Where was I? Right, the Hogsmeade Community Center. So,” she began to babble again about the rules and conditions and _Jesus take the wheel_ she could talk forever once she got going. “I need you to volunteer there every Saturday starting this weekend. There are two shifts available—one in the morning at 8 and one in the evening at 5. You can choose—“

“I'll take the evening shift.”

“But— "

"I’m not waking up at 8 AM to volunteer _._ That's suicidal."

"Okay, but the evening is when _I_ usually go.”

Draco stared at her uncomprehendingly. “Why can’t you volunteer in the morning?”

“Because that’s when the others volunteer.”

“So in the evening, it’s...”

“Just me.”

"You’re telling me your ride-or-die pals don’t want to volunteer with you?" He couldn't help but snort. "That’s gold.”

The Violent Tiny Anger Machine began firing up again. Draco scooted backwards.

“I don’t need your opinions or _judgment,_ so why don’t you shut up, Ferretface,” Hermione snapped. “This isn’t about them anyway.”

“Right, it’s about me. Isn’t it always?”

Hermione stared at him lividly.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Draco gestured lazily at her reddening face. “Have you ever seen a therapist, Granger? I’m sure they could help you work on those anger issues. _Tell me, how do you feel right now? What are you thinking about?_ ”

“The best way to detach your head from the rest of your body.” She raked her gaze over him. “I considered using an axe at first. Now I’m thinking a steak knife.”

“Wouldn’t want to give me a quick death, would you?”

“Of course not. Either way though, you’d probably just start whimpering and offering money," she said, a disturbingly smug gleam in her eyes. "And then you’d try confessing all your crimes and begging for forgiveness, but it’d be too late by then."

“Fantasize about me much?”

Her lips curled upwards a little and she looked at him. “You wish, psycho. Anyway—“

“Anyway,” Draco interrupted. “I said what I said. I'm not waking up at 8 AM on a Saturday morning to serve homeless people breakfast. I don't do early rising. Saturday mornings are for sleeping in and recovering from hangovers.”

A loose tendril of hair fluttered in front of her face as she heaved out an exaggerated breath. "Fine. Whatever."

Draco had always thought Hermione was the sensible one among the Holy Trinity of Hogwarts—Scarface and Weasel being the whiny airheads—but she’d apparently adopted some of her friends’ flair for the dramatic over the years.

“Oh don’t look so smug. You’re the one who’s got it worse,” she said with stubbornness that was entirely hers.

Draco disagreed aloud but silently thought she was right. It _really_ wasn’t fair he had to put in so much work just to stay in school and do even more work.

Obviously, it hadn’t been his idea. He hadn’t even wanted to come back. After the news of his father’s shady campaign contributions broke, the last thing he wanted to see were the Holy Trinity’s gloating faces and Dumbledore’s concerned eyes. But then Narcissa had found him in the basement yesterday afternoon and _exploded._ It was almost as scary as the time Weasel’s mother had Facetimed him during lunch a few years ago and howled at him for taking his dad’s car for a spin. Almost. Because it was actually worse than that time. Narcissa’s rage was no joke, especially when a drug bust was involved.

Draco knew he was doomed as soon as she’d drawn that damn ziploc bag from her pocket.

“Cocaine? How could you even _dare?_ ” she’d seethed. 

Draco’s gut instinct had been claim it was Blaise’s, but Narcissa wasn’t stupid. She was the only person he could never get away with lying to outright. So he confessed a slightly more innocent version of how he’d acquired the coke in question—a believable-enough story that didn’t detail the pains he had to go through to contact Blaise’s dealer. Narcissa was furious enough as it was. (On top of discovering his stash, she had also apparently received an email that morning from Dr. Dumbledore about the suspension. She’d given the old man a call to get the suspension appealed, but unsurprisingly, he’d rejected all her attempts at pulling strings.)

“That’s it,” she’d announced after her ten-minute spiel. She jabbed the power button on the TV. “You’re going to Lawrence.”

He set down his Playstation controller and stared at her. “I’m _what?_ ”

“Your father and I should’ve sent you there long ago instead of letting you waste your potential away in this old town.” Her lips twisted into a frown. “It was my fault. I was too sentimental—too naive. I thought Hogwarts was still what it used to be when I was a student there. But ever since the state took over and opened it up, as if making it a _public_ school would improve anything, it’s all gone downhill. Such a shame.”

“Wait, _Saint Lawrence?_ In Massachusetts?”

_No no no no no no please god no._

“My parents went to Lawrence and so did my grandparents,” Narcissa said. “It’s an excellent boarding school. The best in the country.”

Draco hadn’t been sure how to explain that St. Lawrence was one of those Catholic boarding schools five nuns away from becoming a nineteenth-century asylum, and there was _no way in hell_ he was going to live in that frigid social wilderness for the next year and a half. He could deal with the Hogwarts hillbillies. The ten commandments, not so much.

That was when Granger’s proposal resurfaced. He’d rejected it when she brought it up yesterday (the mere thought of volunteering with her made him gag), but with St. Lawrence in the cards, her idea suddenly seemed pretty damn good to him. 

It took three entire hours to convince his mother it was possible, but in the end she’d reluctantly agreed to give him one last chance. Draco had been so relieved to escape a future of Catholic confinement that he’d texted Granger on Facebook messenger immediately afterwards. He hadn’t expected her to message back right away, but she must’ve been truly desperate, because thirty seconds later his phone lit up with her reply: **_good, i’ll let Dumbledore know. meet me tomorrow in the library at 12:15. we need to talk._**

And so they talked. Actually, Granger monologued for about fifteen minutes about her stupid club while he pretended to listen, but he wasn’t in the mood for a fight today, so he’d tried to keep his complaints to himself. Besides, he technically wasn’t supposed to be on school property at the moment and Mrs. Pince had amazingly powerful hearing.

_How did it come to this?_ he thought to himself. The whole situation could’ve almost been funny. He could even imagine it being told in the Arrested Development narrator’s voice: “ _And now the story of a wealthy family who lost everything, and the one son who had no choice but to ask for help from Hermione Granger to fix his screw-ups”_ \- but it was all too real and ugly to laugh at. Banter aside, he and Granger had been ships in the night for the past five years, with the occasional step across their boundary on his part and a violent strike of retaliation on her part. To finally _acknowledge_ her this year was like finally meeting that person who you’d never met before but whose pictures and posts you’d seen a few times on Instagram (except he definitely didn’t follow Granger on Instagram). It was _different,_ in a really fucking weird way.

Granger's grimy red Converse swung dangerously close to his knee, bringing him back to the present.

“Alright then. Well I’m - I’m glad this is settled.” She sounded formal again, and Draco reminded himself this was essentially a business deal and he should be relieved she could at least pretend to be civil about sentencing him to the ninth circle of hell. “I’ve already talked to Dumbledore by the way. He says he’s lifting your suspension, so you can come back to school starting next week, but it’s still on your record and it won’t be removed until you’ve finished volunteering.”

“Alright. Fine.”

“Okay. So I’ll text you details later.” She slid off the window seat and lifted her backpack (which probably weighed as much as she did) off the floor. Once she was comfortably slouching under the weight of it again, she glared up at him, looking like some sort of angry turtle poking out from under its shell. “You’d better not bail next weekend.”

He would’ve scoffed and called her paranoid, but the brief panic tinging her features was just too good.

"Don’t give me a reason to."

He fell into step beside her as they entered the _Biology_ aisle to get back to the lobby. When they stopped at the end of the aisle, she turned to look at him, distrust etched all over her features. “I hope you realize I’m doing you a favor _._ ”

_Is that what this is?_ he wanted to sneer. _Everyone always thinks they know what’s best for me. My mother. My father. Snape. Dumbledore. And now you, too? You hardly even know me._ But it shouldn’t have surprised him - Granger always thought she knew best, better than anyone else - and that was all it took for Draco to remember why he hated her.

He coaxed his face into a tight smile. “Noted.”

 

***

 

No one gave him a second glance when he returned the next Monday.

No one except for Granger, who he’d caught watching him at least twice. The first time was during chem while Snape was talking about hydrogen bonds. The second time was in the hallway when he caught her eyes peering at him in the mirror hanging in her locker. She slammed it shut immediately after he met her gaze.

No one looked, but they whispered and texted and _fuck_ he should’ve expected this after the release of that Daily Prophet article. He should’ve known this was the shit he’d have to come back to. The silence and judgment; suspicion from teachers and avoidance from classmates. Even Blaise stopped texting him. Just like that, he’d become blacklisted and invisible.

The third time he caught Granger watching him happened at the end of their last class. He saw something close to satisfaction in her expression, something he’d caught glimpses of over the past few days but never really paid attention to. And then it became suddenly clear - the irony, the karma at play - when she breezed past him and her dark brown eyes met his boldly as if to say,  _Now you know how it feels being ignored, don't you, Malfoy?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- thanks to everyone that's bookmarking/subscribing/giving kudos/commenting (or just reading)! super grateful to all of you <3  
> \- chapter title comes from Punching in a Dream by the Naked and Famous  
> 


	8. it's a switch flipped, it's a pill tipped back, it's a moon eclipse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spirit week returns to hogwarts! it's a great time for everyone except two people. no wait, make that three. sorry, drum.  
> *krum.

Malfoy returned to school on the first day of spirit week. 

Students openly stared at him with mixed curiosity and envy, shuffling backwards to let him pass through the halls. Their jaws hung open in reverent awe as if they were witnessing the second coming of the Messiah. But unlike the Messiah (though true to the Malfoy name), Draco held his head high and sneered at anyone who invaded his personal space, occasionally spitting sarcastic insults at all the people he disliked. It was just as Hermione had expected; he’d come back more annoying than ever and the world had readjusted itself on its axis and everything was right in the universe again.

Except none of that actually happened.

He returned to school on the first day of spirit week. Monday. _Character Day._ Students flooded the lobby that morning decked out in crazy Halloween costumes, Hermione herself dressed in an embarrassing Velma Dinkley outfit she’d scrapped together the night before. Although she had spotted Malfoy slinking through the crowd a few minutes before the bell rang, it seemed everyone else was too distracted taking group selfies and coming up with witty Instagram captions to notice him. (Though to be fair, he wasn't _trying_ to stand out in his plain black sweater).

Then first period started and Snape’s sweeping entrance forced everyone to settle down and put away their phones. That was when they finally noticed Malfoy.

He sat quietly at his desk on the left side of the room, immersed in his notes as if he’d never left. Whispers started in the back corner of the classroom and slowly swept towards the front like rustling leaves in the wind. _He’s back. Malfoy’s back. He’s finally back._

Not a single person turned to look at him. Instead, they glanced at each other, and Hermione caught more than one pair of nervous grimaces exchanged between her classmates that morning.

They were too afraid to even look at him. Hermione couldn’t blame them. What did you say to someone whose father was currently being investigated by the FBI and had a “70% chance” of going to prison? _Hey dude, that sucks but sorry-not-sorry because your dad’s a dick?_ It was easier to pretend the elephant in the room didn’t exist - easier to pretend _he_ didn’t exist, especially on the first day of spirit week when all anyone wanted to do was have fun and escape the real world.

Malfoy was giving off some pretty reclusive vibes anyway, whether he was aware of it or not. His verbal cocktail of insults and boasting had withered straight into a cold quiet calm. He stared more at his desk than up at Snape. Tension lined his voice whenever he was called on, as if he was preparing to defend himself from an attack. If anyone looked closely enough (no one did) they could easily see that he’d given up on his appearance over the past few weeks: he’d lost weight and his hair had grown out long enough to brush against his cheekbones. It would’ve been even funnier if Hermione known he was doing it all on purpose (Malfoy growing his hair out long enough to sport a manbun was a mental image she'd pay to see in real life), but he only seemed tired and vaguely annoyed by his surroundings.

“Fluorine, Chlorine, Nitrogen, Oxygen, and Sulfur. Why do all of these atoms form such strong bonds with Hydrogen?” Snape directed his question towards the entire class.

For once, Hermione couldn’t be bothered to raise her hand. Malfoy had just slipped his phone out under his desk again, fingers tapping the screen idly. Was he _texting_ someone? In the middle of class on his first day back? It shouldn’t have bothered her, but given the recent deal they’d made to keep him in school (and to keep S.P.E.W. alive), it did nagged at her like an annoying itch. Did he care about _anything_ anymore?

“Potter.” Snape said briskly. “What do you think?”

Harry began stumbling through an answer Hermione didn’t fully hear. Draco had just lifted his head, gaze alert. He locked eyes with Hermione a split second later and she froze, gripping her pencil tightly. She thought she saw something close to surprise in his face before his eyes narrowed as if daring her to keep watching.

She turned her head away and shot her hand up to answer Snape’s question in Harry’s place, heart thumping uncomfortably fast. _Stop it. Stop staring and freaking out. Stop being weird,_ she scolded herself, her hand still raised though she wasn’t even sure why. It was almost a defense mechanism - something she could focus on to cover up her the awkwardness. Which made everything even more awkward of course.

Snape pretended not to see her before directing his attention towards the left side of the classroom. He nodded at Viktor, who also had his hand raised. “Krum.”

Viktor gave Hermione an apologetic look before answering the question.

“Yes. Correct.” Snape sounded unimpressed, as usual, and he turned back to Harry with a gloating sneer. “That was a simple question anyone could have answered if they had read the homework assignment. _Opposites attract_ \- really, Potter? Are we in kindergarten again?”

“Zoinks,” Ron muttered through a mouthful of Scooby Snacks.

Snape spun on his heel and began writing notes on the chalkboard. Harry adjusted his ascot agitatedly.

“I was kind of right though, wasn’t I?” he whispered to Hermione.

She looked at him and flinched slightly. It unnerved her to see her best friend wearing a blond wig and preppy clothes - he looked almost like he was trying to imitate Malfoy pre-disappearance rather than a lovable cartoon character. But Ginny had been insistent in wrangling him into the Fred costume the minute she’d found a cute Daphne costume for herself in Diagon Alley.

“Yeah,” Hermione spoke over the sound of her own thoughts, forcing herself to forget about the other blond sitting five seats away. She adjusted her fake glasses, face still warm, and muttered, “Kind of.”

 

***

 

Three days later, Mystery Inc. had evolved into the Breakfast Club on Throwback Thursday with Hermione playing - surprise surprise - Allison the Basketcase. _Pre_ -makeover.

But she wasn’t complaining. At least her slouchy sweater and skirt were comfortable. Ginny had forced Ron into a tight pair of khakis four inches too short for him just to complete the Brian Johnson look.

“Seriously? I get to be the nerd in highwaters,” Ron wriggled uncomfortably in his pants, trying to tug them down for the picture Hermione was trying to take. “And Harry gets to be the guy who wears denim and plaid?”

“Suck it up, buttercup.” Ginny said in a smug Molly Ringwald impression. “Harry gets to be Bender because Bender and Claire get together in the end. Anyway, you kinda look like Brian.”

“If anything, Hermione should be Brian since she’s the brains here,” Ron grumbled. “Harry could definitely pull off the jock dude - Andrew - and _I_ could be Bender. You could be the basketcase, Ginny. She gets together with Andrew in the end.”

“I think Ginny is a great Claire,” Hermione interrupted calmly. “And we don’t need an Andrew. We’re fine without an Andrew.”

“Agreed.” Harry said. “Hermione doesn’t have an Andrew in real life anyway - no offense.”

“None taken. Now can we just take this picture? My arm’s getting sore.”

They squeezed together into the frame and Hermione managed to snap the selfie without completely cropping her face out. “There. Perfect. I’ll send it to the groupchat.”

After her friends inspected the selfie and murmured their approval, she tucked her phone into her pocket and slung her backpack over her shoulder. “I’m going to the library to work on chem. Anyone wanna come?  No? Okay, I’m out.”

“See you later,” Ginny reached up and adjusted Hermione’s striped scarf. “You look like a good basketcase, by the way."

Hermione heaved an exaggerated sigh and flicked a pretend piece of lint off her hideous turtleneck. “Thanks.”

She left her friends in the cafeteria hunched over their phones, probably judging all the other group costumes on Instagram and Snapchat. She’d never been a fan of spirit week - it was too costly, time-consuming, and _embarrassing._ Besides the hats she knitted for the homeless shelter every Christmas, she had zero skills when it came to crafts, which meant a lot of improvising and cheap props from the thrift store that looked downright shabby next to the costumes most students bought from Zonko’s Halloween section. She wondered if she could get away with skipping Spirit Week altogether next year. Maybe she could make an excuse - call it _senior privilege._

She had just reached the stairs going up to the library when she heard her name being called out in a deep accented voice.

“Hermione! Hermione wait, please.”

She spotted Viktor across the hall and waved. He half-jogged towards her until he met her at the base of the stairs, looking, as usual, serious and uncomfortable at the same time, like he still wasn’t sure what he was doing here in Hogwarts.

Hermione gave him a friendly smile. “Hey! What’s up?”

His eyes wandered over her clothing for a second and he gave her a strange look. “Is this a throwback costume?”

Hermione kept smiling, trying to squash the self-consciousness growing inside at the reminder of the potato sack she was wearing.

“Yes.” She rocked back on her heels and nodded slowly. “Yup. Yes it is.”

He nodded his head uncertainly, and Hermione clarified, “It’s from an eighties movie. _The Breakfast Club_?”

“Oh.”

Viktor either didn’t care or didn’t understand the hype over Spirit Week, dressed in his usual designer threads fresh off the Spring 2016 NYFW runway instead. But being a naive exchange student from a Bulgarian private academy, he got a free pass.

Before Hermione could educate him on the timelessness of _The Breakfast Club_ , Viktor cleared his throat and rushed out, “I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

Hermione listed her head to the side curiously. “Okay.”

He glanced around the half-full hallway, as if worried the students in Ghostbusters costumes nearby would overhear them. He looked back at Hermione and lowered his voice. “It’s about Homecoming.”

“Oh.”

Hermione’s stomach flipped. When people stopped her in the middle of the hallway to ask her a question, they asked about class assignments or National Honors Society or other school-related things they needed help with. But here he was, Viktor Krum, standing in front of her right when she was about to go to the library and asking her about _Homecoming_ like it was totally normal— _oh god, it’s just like what Ron and I joked about the other day—_

“Hermione?”

She swallowed. “Yeah?”

His eyes were honest and expectant. “I know we don’t know each other very much. But if I am going to this…dance…” he made a face as if he was being forced to go against his will, “I would like to go with someone I like. Will you come with me? As a date?”

Hermione felt like a fish that had just been speared. Paralyzed with shock, she looped through his words - _dance, enjoy, date_ \- until suddenly her head felt too light and her chest too heavy; her heart loud in her ears and her breaths too quiet through her nostrils. She wiped her tingling palms unconsciously over her wool skirt and somewhere in her prefrontal cortex she heard her own small voice screaming advice at her.

_Don’t just stand there! Chill out and say something! Just because you don’t like him in that way doesn’t mean you can’t go with him to this stupid school dance. Give the gorgeous new guy a chance and say yes, you idiot! Or do you want to be forever alone?_

“Uh, I - I can’t.” Hermione said automatically, her feet moving on her own accord until she backed up into a pole. The ringing pain in the back of her headed shook her out of her trance for a second and she felt the slowly rising panic threatening to spill over. She quickly met Viktor’s disappointed eyes and blurted out, “I’m sorry. I just - I can’t. I’m really busy with homework and - and I’m just really busy with lots of stuff this weekend.”

His eyebrows furrowed together. “But, Hermione—“

“Sorry.” Confusion and anxiety and the beginnings of regret propelled her legs back, away from him, and she repeated to his face in a pathetic scraping voice that wasn’t hers, “I’m really sorry.” 

She turned tail and ran.

 

***

 

**_6:04 PM_ **

**Harry: Hey, how’s it going?**

Hermione glanced at her phone and put her pencil down, massaging her forehead tiredly. Five years of being Harry’s friend had taught her that he only texted awkwardly polite things like _hey, how’s it going?_ when he didn’t know how else to start an uncomfortable conversation.

**Hermione: fine, doing homework**

A long minute passed and Hermione almost thought he’d changed his mind. Her phone lit up right when she was about to pick up her pencil again.

**Harry: dean said he saw you talking to drum today**

***krum**

**Hermione: yeah**

**Harry: was it a good talk?**  
****

**Hermione: maybe**

**Harry: dean said krum asked u to homecoming**

“Nosy little spy!” Hermione muttered angrily, suddenly realizing who the Ghostbusters standing a few feet away from the staircase were.

 

**Hermione: dean has good hearing**

**Harry: did you reject him?**

**Hermione: yeah**

**Harry: i thought u liked krum**  
****

**Hermione: he’s my chem partner**

**Harry: but he’d still be a cool date right?**

 

**Hermione: yeah i guess**

**Harry: so why’d you say no?**

Hermione glared Harry’s text and decided he didn’t deserve an immediate answer. Maybe he’d come to his senses if she gave him a minute to think.

She tossed her phone aside and flopped down onto her bed, turning to gaze out the window. It was dark now, dark at six PM, and dusk had washed the leaf-strewn backyard of her grandmother’s house in violet shades of grey. The faint moon hung low in the sky like a celestial blessing over what was probably Grimmauld Place, where Harry was probably scratching his thick head over the millennial feminine mystique.

Hermione tucked her legs under her burgundy comforter and closed her eyes in the silence. Alone in the comforting peace of her bedroom, she had no excuse not to examine her actions today either. 

_Why’d you say no?_ She wished she had a rational answer for what had come over her, for running away like a _coward,_ but when she tried to decipher it and break it down to a logical sequence of events, the same anxiety began creeping up her throat again. How could she explain the panic that had gripped her when she hardly understood it herself? How could she explain that it just didn’t feel _right,_ in more ways than one? Harry would probably laugh and tell her to relax - _calm down, Hermione, it’s just a school dance. Viktor just wants you to go with him so he doesn’t have to go alone._  Harry would be right about that, and she knew it.

She groaned into her pillow. Her phone screen was still dark. Was Harry genuinely waiting for a reply? Or had he lost interest and given up?

She picked it up anyway and reopened their conversation, typing out the easiest reply she could come up with. **_I don’t know._**

 

***

 

She dreamed bizarrely the next night. Somehow, she’d ended up in Taylor Swift’s music video for _You Belong With Me._ Except not really.

She was in her bedroom studying for the SAT (not an unreasonable scene as far as dreamscapes went) when her dream neighbor, who happened to be Viktor in a Ghostbusters costume, caught her attention by waving at her through his window. He scribbled a message on a notepad before plastering it against his window. His expression was hopeful. 

_Come with me to Homecoming? Please?_

Hermione wrote out her own apologetic message - _Sorry, studying :( -_ and Viktor heaved a visible sigh in response. He didn’t seem surprised, and he shrugged and mouthed, _Okay._

Then, naturally, dream Hermione changed her mind at the last minute and decided to literally make herself a dress - some hideous mashup of Velma’s orange turtleneck and Andie’s creation from _Pretty In Pink_ \- and boom, just like that, she materialized Cinderella-style in the Hogwarts gymnasium full of students dressed in _’_ 90s clothes - flannel, leather, denim, and combat boots.

They stared in awe at her pink-and-orange creation from retro-hell as she glided down the bleachers in search of her spurned neighbor crush. The chatter stopped. The music swelled (though for some reason, _You Belong With Me_ had suddenly changed to _As Long As You Love Me -_ Backstreet Boys, not Bieber). The crowd parted. Her dreamscape blurred and reoriented like a focusing camera, and through the sea of students emerged…Draco Malfoy.

Not Viktor. _Malfoy._

Hermione jolted awake from the nightmare with a soft cry, heart thundering. In the darkness, all she could see was the lingering image in her brain of Malfoy standing in front of her; the Adidas tracksuit and fresh white Jordans he wore; the way he looked at her with unexpected warmth in his eyes.

She sucked in a deep breath and stared at the ceiling in numb shock.

_What. The. Hell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly...as long as you love me is my jam. no shame here lol.
> 
> thanks for reading!


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